Ship of Dreams
by Evelyn Night
Summary: Anne Stewart has never been courted. Will Murdoch has sworn never to court again. But on the ship of dreams, anything is possible.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: Alas, I do not own any of the movie characters, which include but are not limited to Rose, Jack, Ruth, Spicer Lovejoy, and Caledon Hockley. I've tried to keep the historical characters (Ex./ Andrews, Murdoch, Smith, etc.) as accurate as possible.

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Part 1

Elizabeth Stewart preferred being addressed as "Anne," her middle name. The girls she grew up with always teased her about her first name, saying it was too proper and elegant for her, and had called her "Lizzie." Except, they had meant it as an insult, as the reptile. But not many people knew that about her; not many people ever seemed to want to befriend Anne. This was obvious as she silently made her way down the stairs that led to the main hall. She looked around. The fire was roaring, and all of the girls were relaxing nearby, taking advantage of their free period as best they could. Some were studying, some were embroidering, but most were talking and gossiping. And none of them noticed her. _Well, what did you expect? A lavish going away party? Tears and hugs and best wishes? Be realistic. They're no more your friends than Ruth was your mother. _Anne shunned the memory of the bitter woman to the back of her mind, swallowing the lump that had suddenly formed in her throat. _It's in the past. Forget about it._

"All ready, Miss Stewart?" a slim, dark-haired young woman cordially asked, a small smile on her face.

"Yes, Miss Temple," Anne nodded. "Has my chauffeur arrived?"

"Yes, just now," Miss Temple replied. "I'll have him take your trunks to the car. Did you wish to say good-bye to the other girls?"

"No, thank you. I already have," came the lie. _Good-bye? Why would I ever want to say good-bye to them? More like good riddance!_

"Well then, I suppose this is good-bye for us," Miss Temple sighed sadly. "Take care of yourself, Anne. I'll expect you to write once you arrive in New York."

"Of course, Miss Temple. I wouldn't dream of having it any other way," Anne nodded at the only friend she'd ever had during her education and career at Barclay Academy. She waited for her teacher to open the heavy oak doors, and stepped outside into the dreary day. "Well, good-bye. And thank you for everything."

"Oh, you're quite welcome," Miss Temple smiled, dabbing at her eyes with her handkerchief.

"Miss Temple!" came the shrill voice behind the younger woman, causing Miss Temple to turn her head. "Do you plan on letting the door open all day?"

"No, Mrs. Barclay," Miss Temple shook her head, then glanced out to Anne once more. "Good luck."

"Thank you," Anne replied, but the door had already been closed in her face. She turned and began down the stairs to the lane, where a chauffeur waited to help her into the car.

"Good morning, Miss Stewart," the elderly gentleman smiled kindly. His smile slightly faded, however, when he noticed the sadness in the young woman's troubled eyes. _The poor girl . . . such a pity._ He decided to change the subject. "Well, we'll arrive in Southampton tomorrow. The ship leaves the day after."

"Thank you," Anne softly replied, her voice hardly audible. _"Good morning?" I'm sorry, Sir, but today is hardly a "good" morning._ She sighed softly, staring out the window. The sky was overcast, and rain threatened to come down upon them at any moment. The whole atmosphere seemed to reflect upon Anne's dark mood. She decided not to dwell on the fact that she had been completely ignored that morning, and soon fell into a deep sleep.

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"Miss Stewart?" the chauffeur gently shook her shoulder. "Miss Stewart, we've arrived in Southampton. We're at the hotel."

"Oh, thank you," Anne opened her eyes, still heavy with sleep. She glanced down at her dress and frowned; there were numerous creases and wrinkles in it due to her sleeping position. _Well, I can't do anything about it now._ She stepped out of the car with the chauffeur's help, and a porter was called to carry her trunks into the hotel. Anne thanked and tipped the chauffeur, before retreating into the hotel to sign in.

She walked up the stairs after receiving her room key, mentally repeating her room number. Finally finding room 312, Anne opened the door and stepped inside. Her trunks had already been taken inside, and stood neatly at the foot of her bed. She looked around the modest room, complete with a small bed, table, and chair. It was small and shabby, but what had she expected for such a small price? She had spent a great deal of her inheritance on a first-class ticket for the grandest ship of all: _Titanic_.

With a tired sigh, Anne walked over to one of two windows in the room. The view was spectacular, and it boasted _Titanic _in all her glory, directly in front of her. For a moment, she forgot her fatigue and unhappiness, and was overwhelmed by the splendor of the giant ship. Suddenly, she didn't just forget her fatigue for a moment, but it had seemed to completely disappear. A smile slowly crossed over her face, lighting her eyes. It wasn't the fake smile she'd been taught to flash to be polite; it was one of her rare, genuine smiles that lit up the room.

Anne freshened up for a moment before dashing down the stairs and out of the hotel. Her eyes widened in surprise and awe as she stared up at the gigantic ship, the hull black and enormous, so imposing and intimidating. The scent of fresh paint hovered in the air, mingling with the ocean's own distinct fragrance. So enthralled was she that she didn't see a man walking in the opposite direction. They collided, and Anne felt two strong hands steady her.

"I'm dreadfully sorry, Miss," Anne looked up into the gray-blue eyes of the man she'd bumped into. Judging by his uniform, he was an officer on _Titanic_, or one of the ships nearby.

"Oh, I'm sorry, it was my fault," Anne felt a blush creep up her throat as he released her. "I wasn't paying attention; I was looking at the ship."

"_Titanic_? Aye, isn't she grand?" the officer smiled, his voice full of pride. "Oh, where are my manners? I'm Will Murdoch." The officer extended his hand.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Murdoch. I'm Anne Stewart," Anne flashed another smile, shaking the man's hand, surprised at the strength that seemed to flow through it.

"The pleasure is all mine, Miss Stewart," Murdoch smiled, surprised at the woman's firm grip. "Might I ask where you were headed?"

"I was simply taking a walk," Anne smiled.

"Would you mind if I accompanied you?" Murdoch asked with a slight Scottish accent. "I've nothing to do at the moment."

"That would be delightful, thank you," Anne smiled up at him, resting her hand on the crook of Murdoch's elbow.

"My pleasure," Murdoch smiled as they began walking through the crowds of people. "So what, Miss Stewart, brings you to Southampton? You certainly don't have an English accent."

"No, I'm not," Anne said albeit a bit sadly. "I came here to attend finishing school. I'm going home."

"And where, may I ask, is home?" Murdoch asked.

"America," Anne replied, then realized how stupid and general the answer was. "Pennsylvania, to be precise."

"So, you're a Pennsylvanian?" Murdoch asked, and she nodded, asking if he'd ever been there. "No, I can't say that I have." This remark brought another smile from Anne, and Murdoch realized how much she resembled Ada, from her dark hair to her sparkling green eyes, like emeralds.

"Where do you hail from, Mr. Murdoch?" Anne asked.

"Dalbeattie, Scotland," came the reply. "Have you ever been there?" Murdoch asked, knowing the answer before she said it.

"To be quite truthful, I've never even heard of it," Anne smiled.

"Well, I suppose I can overlook that small flaw," Murdoch teased, causing Anne to "uh!" in surprise, which was followed by a laugh that showed she had taken no offense.

"Will!" both Anne and Murdoch glanced up to see a rather harried man running towards them. "Come on! Captain wants a word with us!"

"I guess that's my cue to bid you good-bye," Murdoch turned to Anne. "It was a pleasure talking with you, Miss Stewart. Perhaps we'll meet again."

Anne smiled. _Yes, perhaps we will. Especially if you work on _Titanic She watched the officer run off after the first, and then turned to return to her hotel room. Her dress was a disgrace, and now that she thought of it, so was her hair. It was a surprise that Officer Murdoch had even wanted to be seen with her in such a state.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: Once again, I sadly don't own any of the movie characters.

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Night came and went, but Anne was not the least bit tired. The events of the previous day swam through her head. She recalled the years she'd spent at Barclay Academy, certain she'd been sent there only so her stepmother could lavish her attentions on her real daughter. But Anne held no grudge against her stepsister, only her stepmother. The woman had been cruel enough to flirt with her father before her mother's body had even grown cold and stiff with death, and then after they married, had sent her stepdaughter off to finishing school the day after her husband had been buried. No, there was no kind bone in Ruth DeWitt Bukater, and of that Anne was certain.

As she attempted to tie her corset strings alone, Anne became aware of one very crucial fact: she had no maid. At Barclay, she had asked Mena, her roommate, to help her dress in the morning. Although she acted as though she hated every minute of it, Mena complied every morning, and Anne returned the favor. But here, she didn't have so much as a roommate. She had worn a corset all her life; what was she to do without one? She began to worry at the locket she wore constantly. She couldn't very well walk around without one on . . . could she? _The lower classes do it every day._

When Anne left her room half an hour later, she self-conscientiously smoothed her skirts, straightened her hat, nervously glanced around. For the first time since she'd ever started wearing corsets, she was without one. She cleared her throat and smoothed her skirts again.

"May I carry those for you, Miss?" a young man asked, looking down at Anne's trunks.

"Oh, yes, please," Anne said, quite relieved. Her trunks were heavy, having been stuffed full of everything Anne owned, and she wasn't certain how she'd manage. She'd never really lifted anything heavy before in her life. _Even in finishing school there were others to do all the work._ She led the porter to Titanic, giving him her stateroom number. Before he walked away, she fished a few dollar bills from her purse. Just at that moment, a breeze pulled her ticket from her hand, which she had been holding rather loosely to begin with. _Oh no! I can't lose that . . . I'll never get away from here! _She followed the piece of paper with her eyes as it tumbled away, hoping it wouldn't fall into the water. Running after it, she stooped to pick it up just as another hand reached out and stopped it first, and she grabbed the hand, instead. Anne pulled her hand away as she glanced up into the eyes of the officer she'd met the other day. _Officer . . . Officer . . . Murdoch! That's his name!_

"This must be yours, Miss Stewart," Murdoch smiled, handing her the ticket. "I should hate for you to lose it."

"Thank you, Mr. Murdoch. It would have been very terrible, indeed, if you had not grabbed it for me," Anne felt herself blushing, and looked down at the ground.

"So, you will be on _Titanic_'s maiden voyage?" Murdoch asked, and Anne nodded. "Then, perhaps I shall be seeing much more of you."

Anne's eyes suddenly shot up a moment after she realized that Murdoch's words could have been interpreted in an entirely different context, and she felt herself blushing all the more. _He must think me a vulgar, uncouth—_

"I-I meant to say that . . . that we will probably see each other more often," Murdoch suddenly found himself rather warm, and the day wasn't exactly hot. "Well. I must be off. It was a pleasure seeing you again, Miss Stewart." That said, Murdoch brushed past Anne and closed his eyes momentarily, mentally chiding himself for the remark.

Anne watched the First Officer walk off, and couldn't help but grin a little. To see a proper and dignified man such as Mr. Murdoch become a bit embarrassed was certainly entertaining. She then walked up the gangplank, handing her ticket to the officer there, and couldn't help but wonder if she ever would see Mr. Murdoch again. The ship seemed awfully large, and she fancied that two people could easily endure a voyage without ever seeing each other once.

"Will that be everything, Miss?" the porter asked, looking around the spacious stateroom with wonder. She certainly didn't appear to be a first-class passenger or a person of unlimited financial means, but looks were often deceiving.

"No, thank you," Anne shook her head, tipping the porter again. She glanced around the stateroom. It was much more comfortable and lavish than her room at Barclay ever had been, even if one combined her shared room as a student and her private room as a tutor. The room was complete with a small bed, sofa, table, chair, and basin. The wood paneling appeared to be oak, but the top half of the walls had been painted pristine white. She stared around her in awe for another moment, before a small smile slowly formed on her face. _This is it. I'm truly going home._ The thought caused her to laugh out loud, and she clamped her hand over her mouth, startled by the sound. She hadn't laughed in a long time. A very long time

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A/N: Sorry these chapters have been so short; I'm trying to decide how to best divide them. 


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the historical figures, or the _Titanic_ movie characters. Obviously. If I did, do you really think I'd be spending my time writing fan fiction? Well, okay, so maybe I would, but that's another story.

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Anne wandered through foreign corridors, which all seemed identical to her. She had wanted to be above on the boat deck to watch _Titanic _depart Southampton; she had wanted to see Southampton fade away for good. But at this rate, she wouldn't even make it to the boat deck by dinner. Finally, she decided to follow a few other first-class passengers, but soon realized that they had no intention of going to the boat deck with the uncouth passengers that would surely be making fools out of themselves, waving their arms and yelling to the crowds below. However, Anne found the Grand Staircase quickly enough, and decided that it must lead to the boat deck.

A few minutes later, Anne found herself on the crowded boat deck, but found too many people to her liking. She glanced around once or twice and turned to leave. However, screams pierced the air a few moments later, and someone said something about a near collision with another ship. The action caused her to stay a bit longer, and she gasped when she noticed someone. _No . . . it can't be her. Stop it, you're getting yourself upset over nothing. Just stay here . . . she's bound to look this way sooner or later, and then you can be certain and travel in peace. Just keep watching . . . keep watching . . . there! See? It wasn't her at all._ Anne's heart rate resumed to normal a few seconds later. However, she had decided that she had had enough excitement for one day, and retired from the boat deck.

A bugle sounded just as soon as _Titanic _was underway, announcing that lunch was being served. However, Anne found herself with a lack of appetite, and returned to her cabin to finish unpacking her belongings.

Lunchtime came and went, and Anne did not emerge from her cabin. She stayed hidden away inside the room, partially out of fear of getting lost on her way to the library, or even the lavatory, and partially out of fear of discovering that _they _really were on board. She was on a ship; there were only so many places one could hide. _You're making a fool of yourself, Anne Stewart! Are you going to let her control your life again? She probably isn't even on board. _Chiding herself for being such a coward, Anne departed her stateroom and went in search of a female stewardess who could help her tie her corset as she prepared for dinner.

"Tight enough, Miss?" a young woman with blond hair fixed in a tight bun at the nape of her neck looked at Anne's reflection in the mirror.

"A little tighter, if you please," Anne instructed, taking in another breath. She was certain that all of her years of wearing corsets had deformed her rib cage. She would have been quite surprised if they hadn't. "Thank you."

"Will you be needing anything else, Miss?" the stewardess asked.

"Well. . . ." Anne's voice trailed off as she glanced down at the assortment of ribbons and ornamental hairpins scattered across the table. "No, thank you."

"Are you sure? I've nothing to do at the moment," the stewardess kindly said, and Anne asked if she wouldn't mind styling her hair. "Not in the least! I used to be a hair stylist, you know. But, hard times came upon my family . . . and now, here I am!"

Anne listened as the young woman rambled on about her family and her hair styling business, nodding every once in a while to show that she was listening. By the time her hair was piled atop her head, fastened with a length of thick pale blue ribbon and silver pins, Anne had learned that the woman's name was Megan, and that she hailed from London. She also learned that Megan had a younger brother and two younger sisters; her father had passed away when Megan was fifteen, and her mother was very ill.

"Thank you, Megan," Anne smiled, grateful for the help. "I'll pray for your family."

"Thank you, Miss," Megan's eyes watered. She had never met a first-class passenger quite like the one she had just befriended, and wondered if there weren't more kind souls out there in the world who were well established. "Well, you'd best be getting to dinner. Don't want to be late now, do you?"

"I suppose not," Anne faintly smiled. She then departed her stateroom, making her way to the dining saloon.

_Oh! _Anne's eyes widened slightly at the sight of the dining saloon. It was quite sophisticated, and seemed to run the length of the ship. And at every near table that Anne could see, at least two people were seated, or standing near the chairs, gossiping. _Where am I to sit? Who am I to sit with? I don't know these people; I could sit next to someone of extreme importance! _She recalled hearing someone mention that a John Jacob Astor and his wife had boarded the ship at Cherbourg, where they had docked shortly after dinner began. According to gossip, he was the wealthiest man on board. And then there were Sir Cosmo and Lady Duff Gordon, who were apparently traveling as "Mr. And Mrs. Morgan" because of some troubles with the U.S. Customs. _What if I sit next to one of them? My word, I could make a fool of myself! Of course, I look perfectly normal just standing here. _Anne felt her neck grow warm as a blush formed, and she quickly found a seat, not caring who else was sitting at the table.

A steward approached the table a moment later, filling Anne's wine glass. She smiled politely, thanking him. Her gaze returned to the darkly hued liquid in the sparkling glass, and she gracefully lifted it and brought it to eye level, staring into the wine. The fruity fragrance wafted to her nose, and she smiled. But just as soon as the smile had appeared, it disappeared. There, through her wine glass, Anne could see the figure of two people she'd been trying to forget: Ruth DeWitt Bukater and her daughter, Rose.

Stunned, Anne dropped the glass from her fingers. It landed on the table and partially smashed, sending wine everywhere. Anne glanced down at the dark stains on the bodice of her gown, then up again. As though in slow motion, she saw Ruth slowly turn her head towards her, Rose escorted by a rather haughty looking dark-haired gentleman. Without giving Ruth a chance to recognize her, Anne rose from her chair so quickly it tipped over. Feeling the blush on her throat grow redder and redder, she ran past the wealthy socialites scattered around the room, her eyes fixed on the doors.

A moment later, Anne burst through the doors, bringing gasps from startled women. She knew that they thought her odd and brazen, but she _had _to get away. She ran up the Grand Staircase as quickly as her dress and shoes would allow, bursting out to the open deck. She glanced up and down the deck, but very few people were around. Most were in the dining saloon, eating lavish dinners and discussing topics that no one would remember next month. She was alone. No, not quite. A couple was slowly strolling up the way towards her, and would be upon her in a few minutes. No, she wanted complete privacy. She turned away from the couple, running . . . where, she didn't know. She ascended to the next deck, running to get away.

Suddenly, she rounded a corner and ran into something hard and solid. She cried out in surprise and closed her eyes, prepared to hit the ground rather brutally. But seconds passed, and she didn't fall. She slowly opened her eyes, and found _him_ steadying her. _Officer Murdoch. _Concern clearly displayed itself on his usually composed face, and his eyes were slightly wide with worry and surprise.

"Are you all right?" Murdoch softly asked, as he watched a lone tear trail down Anne's face. "What's the matter?" He looked past her, expecting to see some madman ready to assault her. Then he saw the wine stains, and mistook them for blood. "Blimey! What's happened?"

Anne vehemently shook her head, upset to learn that she hadn't escaped them, angry with herself for losing her composure, frightened to have run into him again. She felt his eyes on her, and wondered if he thought her a complete lunatic. She knew she had put him in an awkward situation, which only upset her further. She blinked back more tears that stung her eyes, determined to let no more than one slip out. Another tear slipped out. _Two._

Murdoch stared down at the girl. His heart softened slightly for her. She had seemed so friendly, so vivacious the day before. What had caused her to suddenly be so vulnerable, so unhappy? Still, he had no idea what to do, and stared down at her for a few seconds; his hands still gripped her forearms from a few moments earlier. He realized that it wasn't blood on her dress, and he released a breath he didn't know he'd been holding. He slowly pulled her close, pushing away the discomfort and awkwardness he felt. He lowered his head instinctively, resting his cheek on the top of her head, gently stroking her hair.

"It . . . It will be all right," Murdoch softly whispered, uncertain of what to say. What did one say to comfort a distraught girl?

Anne sniffled daintily. She shook her head slightly against his broad chest, the material of his greatcoat warm against her cheek from his body heat. She slowly closed her eyes, another tear squeezing out from an eyelid, dark eyelashes glistening with tears. Suddenly, her eyes shot open. _My heavens what am I doing? _She felt a strong hand stroking her hair softly. She felt his chest rise and fall as he breathed; she heard the vibrations as he talked. And she hardly knew him. Such a breach of protocol! _What am I doing. _This time, it was more a statement than a question. Suddenly, she pushed away from him. He stood there, looking confused and a bit awkward. Anne shook her head.

"I-I'm sorry. I. . . ." her voice trailed off. She slowly backed away, then turned and ran. _Good work, Anne! At this rate, you'll have befriended everyone on the ship by the time we reach Queenstown tomorrow!_

She hugged a flagpole at the stern. It was cold and biting against her bare arms, and she could feel it through the thin dress, which fit her like her own skin. She leaned her head against it, more and more hair falling from the pins and ribbons that had secured it not long ago. Such elaborate styles were not meant to withstand hysterical running or the wind of the sea. _Idiot, Anne. Such an idiot. What were you thinking? Ha! That's just it; you weren't thinking. First, you get lost no matter where you go. Next, you see Ruth and Rose. Then, you make quite a spectacle in front of Officer Murdoch._

"You're an idiot," Anne said aloud with disdain. "A complete and total idiot. My goodness, it's no wonder Ruth wanted to get rid of you."

"You're not an idiot, and anyone wanting to get rid of you is insane," Anne jumped with a gasp and turned to see Officer Murdoch standing a few yards behind her, hands clasped behind his back. He gently smiled, slowly approaching her. He had followed her, had watched her grab the flagpole, as though it was her only constant in a quickly crumbling world. His footsteps became silent when he heard her sniffle once or twice, and he occasionally saw her shoulders shake slightly. He didn't know if it was due to the cold or crying.

"I-I, I didn't know you were there," was all she could say; she raised her hand to her throat, feeling for her locket. _How long had he been standing there? _She could faintly see the darker spot on his greatcoat, where her tears had soaked into the material.

"Here," Murdoch stepped forward with a handkerchief and dried her tears.

"I'm sorry," Anne whispered a few moments later, but Murdoch hushed her.

"It's all right; there's no need to apologize," Murdoch faintly smiled, still troubled by her loss of composure. "Shall we sit?" He motioned to a nearby bench. When he saw Anne's head faintly nod, he placed his hand at the small of her back, ushering her to the bench. "Are you cold?" She shook her head, but a quick glance at the goose bumps on her arms told him otherwise. He unbuttoned his greatcoat, draping it around her. It engulfed her and swallowed her, making her appear all the more vulnerable and insecure. He considered asking her what was troubling her, but the thought of bringing another onslaught of tears told him to keep his mouth shut. Instead, he pulled her a bit closer to him for warmth, and they stared at the stars in silence.

"I saw her today," Anne finally said when she regained her composure, and Murdoch glanced over at her in surprise. "I saw my stepmother and my stepsister; I think my stepsister was with her fiancé. I haven't seen them over ten years; I have no idea how I recognized them, but I knew. I'm going to be stuck on this ship with them; I'll be forced to be with them the entire journey to New York."

"The ship's large enough," Murdoch reassured her. "There's a great chance that you won't see them again."

"I saw _you _again, didn't I? Besides, I have to dine with them every single day for every single meal. Not necessarily at their table, mind you, but in the same room. They're bound to see me at some point," Anne explained, her voice still slightly thick with emotion.

"I take it you haven't eaten yet, then?" Murdoch asked, after a few seconds of silence. He felt her shake her head against his shoulder. "Then, let's eat. I haven't eaten, either."

"You aren't . . . on watch?" Anne softly asked, afraid he'd say he was, but for some reason, even more afraid he'd say that he wasn't.

"It's time for dinner," Murdoch replied, without answering Anne's question directly, leaving her to wonder if he was or was not on duty. He slowly rose from the bench, offering her his hand. When she looked at him warily, he reassured her with, "Don't worry. You won't have to eat with them. You can eat in the crew's mess with me and the others. It'll just be the officers, and I assure you that they're not the rude and vulgar snobs some of the first-class passengers can be. No offense meant to you."

"None taken. But, I don't want to get you in trouble or impose," Anne quickly said, shaking her head, ignoring the growling in her stomach. She accepted his hand and he helped her to her feet.

"You're not imposing," Murdoch replied, offering her his arm. "Besides, if your stomach is any indicator, I'd say you're hungry."

"Oh," Anne replied. _What about the getting in trouble part?_ Just the same, she placed one hand in the crook of his elbow, the other fingering her locket, and they walked toward the crew's mess.

"Evening, Murdoch," a rather young, handsome man greeted his superior as he entered the room. He did a double-take when he noticed the young woman Murdoch was escorting. Out of politeness, he closed the book he was reading and rose from the table. "Good evening . . . Miss . . . ?"

"Stewart," Anne meekly replied. "Anne Stewart."

"Miss Stewart," the young man nodded with a smile, noticing her slightly red eyes, Murdoch's greatcoat, and the stern look being delivered by the First Officer. He skirted the table and nodded in acknowledgment. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Miss Stewart. I am Sixth Officer James Moody."

"The pleasure is all mine, Officer Moody," Anne delivered another genuine smile, shaking his hand. "Please, call me Anne."

"If you insist," Moody grinned, despite the breach in protocol; he spoke with a slight Welsh accent. "You must call me James, then."

"Of course," Anne nodded. Moody appeared to be only a year or two older than her, and she felt awkward being addressed as "Miss" by anyone, especially someone her age.

"What are we having?" Murdoch asked Moody, who had already walked back to his chair, but waited for Anne to sit first. Murdoch helped her out of his greatcoat, laying it on another table. He removed his cap and set it on the table atop the coat. Then, he pulled out a chair for Anne, who seemed somewhat surprised at the gesture.

"I heard something about plaice and vegetables," Moody shrugged, as Anne sat.

"Coffee or tea?" Murdoch asked, sitting down to Anne's left, across from Moody, and it took a few seconds for Anne to realize he was talking to her. He smiled when she glanced over at him.

"Oh, sorry," Anne shook her head. "Tea, please."

Murdoch smiled, rising from his chair. He disappeared into the kitchen, only to return a moment later with two pots, one of coffee and one of tea. He set them down again, returning to the kitchen for milk and sugar.

"And what do you think of Mr. Holmes?" Murdoch heard Anne ask Moody as he poured her a cup of tea, clearly more at ease and comfortable around him. "Oh, you don't have to do that for me."

"It's all right," Murdoch smiled again, confused by the woman. One moment she was refined and the quintessence of first-class, and the next she made it seem as though pouring a simple cup of tea was the greatest sacrifice of all. "I don't mind."

"Oh, he seems quite proper and formal, and maybe a bit dull," Moody glanced over at his copy of Hound of the Baskervilles, and then to Murdoch. "A bit like Will here." However, he quickly averted his glance to Anne, who was trying to hide a smile. "Have you read it?"

"Oh, yes. Several times, actually," Anne nodded with a smile, not daring to look over at Murdoch, whom she knew was boring holes into Moody with his eyes; she fixed her gaze instead on Moody, and the two communicated laughter with their eyes.

"Well, at least I'm not a bloody romantic," Murdoch said as he poured himself a cup of coffee, then apologized to Anne for his language.

"At least I'm more of a gentleman around ladies. I would never dream of offending a lady like that!" Moody teasingly feigned surprise.

"All right, gentlemen. I'd rather arrive in New York in one piece, and that's not going to work if two of our officers are at each others' throats all the time," Anne softly laughed, stirring her tea.

"Right then," Murdoch sighed, stirring two lumps of sugar into his steaming cup of coffee. "Sorry."

Anne gently smiled, slightly amused. She turned her head to look over at Murdoch a moment, before turning back to her tea. A companionable silence ensued, Murdoch and Anne stirring their drinks, Moody reading the last sentence of the page, before closing the book.

"So, Anne, what's your story?" Moody asked, breaking the silence.

"My . . . story?" Anne asked, confused.

"Why are you on this grand ship?" Moody asked, swinging his arm in an arc that engulfed the room. "Meeting your husband in America? Returning home?"

"Oh. Well. . . ." Anne's voice trailed off as she tried to think of the most concise way to explain her reasons. Murdoch began to change the subject, fearful of upsetting her, but Anne cut him off. "I'm not married. I've never even had a suitor." She feebly laughed, shaking her head. She'd never admitted that to anyone, and now she was telling men she'd known for less than 48 hours. "I live in Pennsylvania. Or rather, I once did. I spent a great deal of my childhood, and actually my life, at Barclay Academy, either as a student or a tutor. A family in Pennsylvania needed a governess, and their request was sent to Barclay. I was suggested, and the family agreed. So, here I am."

"Interesting, though I can't imagine you've never been courted. So, do you know what the family's like?" Moody asked.

"Well, from what I've heard, they're quite nice . . . for a family of high social standing," Anne grinned; she decided not to continue with the conversation regarding her marriage status. "The couple has three children, two boys and a girl. The parents would have liked their children to have attended finishing school, but they couldn't find a school they liked enough."

"Barclay is a fine school! I've only ever heard good things about it," Moody nodded. "I'm sure your parents are proud to say that you've not only graduated, but also taught there, as well!"

_Barclay, a fine school? Obviously, you've never spoken with a student of Barclay. Then again, maybe I was the only one who truly detested it. _Anne smiled politely when Moody finished. Little did he know he was treading on shaky ground, talking about her parents. She lowered her head and stared into her tea.

"Yes, I'm sure they are," Murdoch said; he watched Anne raise her eyes and look over at him, gratitude in her eyes. "Well, I wonder when dinner will be served. I'll go check."

Just as Murdoch rose, a steward appeared, bearing a tray of food. However, he stopped abruptly upon noticing Anne at the table. He blushed slightly, as though just now realizing that he had two plates of food, when there were indeed, three people.

"I _told _you a third would be joining us!" Murdoch exclaimed.

"Yes, Sir. I'm sorry, Sir. I-I forgot," the steward quickly set the tray down on the table, then turned to go for another plate.

"Wait," Anne softly said, so softly that the steward wasn't certain she'd spoken at all. She turned in her seat to face Murdoch, and in her most convincing voice, said, "I don't want to cause any trouble. Really, it's fine. I'm not hungry at all. The tea filled me up."

"Really," Murdoch stated, clearly not believing her. "You haven't eaten since lunch."

_Actually, I haven't eaten since breakfast, _Anne suddenly realized. Still, she wasn't about to correct Murdoch with that little fact. Instead, she politely smiled. "Mr. Murdoch, really. I don't want to cause any trouble. It's just a meal. Besides, I'm sure they've only prepared enough food for the crew. Actually . . . I ate a little before I left."

"Right," Murdoch nodded, ignoring Anne and talking to the steward. "Bring another plate, would you?" Before Anne could protest, a plate was brought and Murdoch began putting half of his food on the second plate. Then, he set it in front of Anne. "We're not leaving and I'm not eating until you do."

"Mr. Murdoch, I can't. This is _your _food! You need it more than I do," Anne shook her head, pushing the plate across.

"Intolerable woman!" Murdoch exclaimed, half amused, half irritated that she was so excessively polite and proper. "You're going to eat this if I have to—"

"Blimey!" Moody suddenly reached across the table, stabbing part of Murdoch's fish with his fork and then leaning back into his seat, happily munching on the plaice. The room became silent as Murdoch and Anne both stopped arguing to stare at Moody, who seemed rather pleased with himself. "Well, someone has to eat, and at the rate you to are going, we'll be in New York before you decide whose food it is!"

Suddenly, the room burst into a paroxysm of laughter, releasing the tension. Murdoch took advantage of the moment to push the plate across to Anne again. This time, she did not object, and the three ate over light conversation. _She has the same fiery attitude Ada had. _Murdoch shook the thought out of his head quickly.

"So, when did you meet her?" Moody asked after they'd eaten and Anne had left to take their plates to the kitchen . . . but only after arguing extensively with Murdoch over who should do it.

"Just yesterday. We ran into each other at the docks," Murdoch replied. "Why?"

"Well . . . it's just that I haven't seen you happy since you and Ada parted. And then, being docked to First Officer from Chief Officer really had you down. You haven't been smiling. Not until yesterday," Moody raised his eyebrows with a smirk.

"Well, I assure you that we're just friends," Murdoch said, rather matter-of-factly. "I'm serious!" he added, when Moody raised a brow in disbelief.

"Serious about what?" Anne asked as she entered the room.

"Serious about cuffing Moody here if he doesn't return to his post," Murdoch glared at Moody with a look that told the latter he really would hit him if their conversation ever reached Anne's ears.

"It was a pleasure making your acquaintance, Anne," Moody took one of her hands, kissing the backs of her fingers lightly, then again, and again, and again. . . .

"All right, you bloody idiot," Murdoch rolled his eyes. "Enough of that."

"Will's just angry it's not him," Moody whispered to Anne, though intentionally loudly enough for all to hear. With that, he smartly saluted Murdoch, grabbed his book, and left the room.

"Well. James seems quite pleasant," Anne said once Moody was gone.

"Try living with him," Murdoch muttered, grabbing his coat and hat. He extended his arm to escort Anne. "Shall we?"

"Thank you," Anne smiled warmly, resting her hand on the crook of his elbow.

_My word he's kind! _Anne leaned against the door to her stateroom. Officer Murdoch had escorted her all the way to her stateroom. She had apologized countless times for keeping him from his duties, and he had explained countless times that it was all quite all right. To prove it, he had even gone so far as to search for a steward to cater to Anne's needs for the remainder of the night. That had brought a laugh from her. They had bid each other good night, and hoped to see each other in the morning. Somehow, Anne was certain that they would. Even on a ship so large as _Titanic_.

Giddy with a happiness she hadn't felt in years, Anne readied for bed. She stared at her reflection in the mirror; by Jove she was practically glowing!

An hour had passed since Anne had gone to bed. Her eyes were still wide open; her heart was still racing. Throughout her entire twenty-three years, Elizabeth Anne Stewart had never been courted. No suitors had lined up at her door to sweep her off her feet; she had never received flowers or notes from a secret admirer. Over the years, she'd accepted the sad fact, and deemed herself either physically unattractive or not wealthy enough. Never mind the fact that Miss Temple had all but drilled it into her head that it was because of her intelligence, if anything. "You intimidate them, Anne!" she had said. "You're too clever, too smart for them, and they know it. Can you think of a single man who'd want to live in his wife's shadow because she was more successful, more intelligent, than himself?" _Well, I doubt I'd have a problem with the success part. A dog could be more successful than me . . . as long as it's a male dog. A female dog would stand the same chance I do. And Lord knows it's because males are so much more infinitely intelligent._ She sighed. _Twenty-three and unmarried. What a disgrace! _Her mind returned to the man that had originally caused the chain reaction of thoughts: William Murdoch. She suddenly frowned in the darkness. She didn't even know his rank! He had never told her. James was Sixth Officer . . . so that put Will . . . somewhere. Anne made a mental note to ask him when she saw him next.

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A/N: For some reason, I can't insert a ruler on this page, which is frustrating. Anywho. Thanks much to Raven, Anne, Dark Melody, and Lauren for reviewing!


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: As if I haven't beaten this to death, once again, I don't own Titanic. Refer to previous disclaimers if you want more info.

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Barely unable to sleep, Anne woke with the sun. Fortunately, Megan was already up and about with her rounds. After taking Anne morning tea, Megan helped her dress. Following another conversation with Megan, in which Megan did most, if not all of the talking, and Anne patiently listened, the two ladies parted ways and continued about their routines.

Anne skipped breakfast; the toast and apple Megan had brought had been enough for her. She had never had a very large appetite, and her happiness only reduced her appetite even further.

After making her way through various corridors and up several stairways, Anne found herself on one of the top decks. She couldn't recall the name of it; honestly, she didn't _know _the name of it. However, she soon realized it was the boat deck. Lifeboats lined the length of the ship. She walked to a point in between the boats, so she could stand at the railing and watch the ocean.

"Good morning," Anne turned to see Murdoch standing behind her, hands clasped behind his back, as he'd stood the previous night. "Did you sleep well?"

"I suppose," Anne smiled. "This is only my second time on a ship; I'm afraid I'm not entirely accustomed to it yet."

"It's not difficult," Murdoch walked up to stand alongside her.

"Well, if I spent my life on the sea, I suppose it would be quite easy," Anne laughed, and remembered her question. "Mr. Murdoch, I never asked you your rank. It just occurred to me last night."

"Oh," Murdoch dropped his gaze for a moment or two, then stared straight out to sea. "First Officer William McMaster Murdoch."

"Is that the highest?" Anne asked, suddenly a bit frightened and uneasy.

"No," Murdoch lowered his gaze again. "Chief Officer Henry Wilde is the highest ranking officer, aside from Captain Smith, of course." He sighed softly.

_My heavens what have I done? First Officer? Of course, he _had _to be first, not second or third._ Suddenly, Anne noticed the slightly melancholic expression in Murdoch's eyes, even though he wasn't looking at her.

"Mr. Murdoch?" Anne asked, then, "It _is _all right if I call you 'Mr. Murdoch?'"

"Yes, of course," Murdoch faintly smiled.

"You weren't supposed to be a higher ranking officer, were you?" Anne inquired, and knew she'd hit the nail on the head when his eyes quickly shot up and over to her. "Oh."

"I come from a long line of seafaring men. It's a rule that at least one man per generation in my family finds a trade ashore, because death at sea is such a risk. I've lost two cousins, three uncles, and an aunt. The sea is . . . part of my life. I've worked on sailing vessels; I've served aboard _Medic_, _Runic_, _Arabic_, _Adriatic_, _Oceanic_, and _Olympic_. They're all White Star Line ships. You can tell because of the "-ic" ending. You know, I thought I'd be Chief Officer for the past year . . . well, almost." Murdoch removed his cap for a moment, running a strong hand through thick brown hair as he sighed. He flopped it back on his head and straightened it, then looked up at Anne. When he did, he faintly smiled a sad smile. "I'm sorry. Here I am rambling on. . . ."

"Oh, no it's quite all right," Anne smiled gently, shaking her head. _He has a nice accent. What? Shut up, Anne, shut up. First Officer, remember? And he'll probably be Chief Officer soon enough! _"I don't mind."

"Well, you should learn to mind _something_," Murdoch grinned, his mood lightening. "Do they teach you only to obey in finishing school?"

"Yes, but whether or not one chooses to adhere to that policy is an entirely different matter," Anne grinned.

"I have the feeling that the way you act outside is entirely different from what you think inside," Murdoch said.

"Maybe," Anne turned and walked past Murdoch. She sharply turned her head to glance back, and in that moment, the sunlight shone off of raven-black locks and emerald green eyes. Her porcelain skin of peaches and cream — quite distinguishable from the strawberries and cream complexions of the Englishwomen — seemed to glow.

"Have you had breakfast?" Murdoch asked.

"Hm. Yes," Anne said, slightly tilting her head at an angle. She laughed when Murdoch raised a brow at her. "Well, I had toast and an apple over the _Atlantic Daily Bulletin_. I wasn't very hungry; I never eat much in the morning."

"From what I've seen, you don't eat much at all," Murdoch smiled. "Would you care to have tea with me?"

"I'm . . . sorry?" Anne asked. _Did he just ask me to tea? Did he, First Officer, ask me, a first-class passenger that doesn't even deserve the title?_

"Tea. Would you like some?" Murdoch asked, trying to hide an amused smile, but failing miserably.

"Yes, thank you," Anne blurted, then shook her head. "I mean no! I mean, thank you for asking, but really, I can't."

"And why can't you?" Murdoch inquired.

"I have matters to attend to," Anne replied, rather matter-of-factly.

"Oh?" Murdoch asked. He looked down at the girl, whose eyes were stolidly fixed on the deck below. Her fingers were running over the smooth silver of her locket. Suddenly, he felt rather bold. "Do they include running from your fears the rest of your life?" He had already braced himself for the angry look he was sure to follow.

"Excuse me?" Anne hotly asked. Her eyes were intensely green, and Murdoch wondered if she didn't have a bit of Irish or Scottish blood in her. Perfectly manicured fingernails dug into her palms, almost to the point of perforating her flesh. "How dare you speak to me in that manner! You don't know me."

"That's right, I don't," Murdoch replied. He crossed his arms over his broad chest. "You won't tell me."

"Well, you never asked," Anne sputtered, a bit taken aback by her lack of serenity and grace. _Although, thinking back to last night, this is nothing._

"You didn't exactly seem in a mood last night to answer me without crying," Murdoch honestly pointed out. At this, he led her to the railing where he was supposed to be on watch. "Besides, I think I deserve to hear your story. I told you my boring tale."

"I suppose you're right," Anne sighed, adding, "And your story wasn't boring." She paused for a moment, as though collecting her thoughts . . . or perhaps trying to forget. She looked out to sea, watching the waves in the distance and the blue-black water below. "My father and mother were very wealthy. And very much in love. They were happy together, and they loved me. My world revolved around them. And then . . . my world slowly began to break apart.

"When I was six, my mother died of pneumonia. My father was heartbroken, and his health began to steadily decline. At my mother's funeral, he met a woman near his age. She had a daughter, and her marriage was falling apart. Father didn't know that at the time. He thought she was single. But that didn't matter; she told him her husband had died recently, and they were able to comfort each other.

"They married a year following Mother's death; I think she only wanted his money. Father was still in love with Mother. I think he just wanted me to have a mother figure. He died of depression and heart failure a year later. I was sent to England by my stepmother a year following his death. She'd only endured me for even that long so she didn't seem quite the cruel woman she was. But I never heard an endearment or kind word from her, not once. Even with company she found ways to ridicule me, and the others either laughed or pretended not to hear. Or else she said it so sweetly that I was the only one who understood her true meaning.

"In less than two years, I lost my entire family, and I was thrust into surroundings so different from what I'd been accustomed to. For the past fourteen years of my life, I've lived at Barclay Academy. The only reason I wasn't deemed a scholarship girl was because my stepmother paid for my tuition . . . with my inheritance.

"When I graduated, my stepmother sent me the remainder of what I'd been left. But even I could tell that it was less than what I really should have had, even after nine years of schooling. I knew she kept some of it, and I knew she had sold most, if not all, of our furnishings and memories.

"For the past five years, I've tutored at Barclay. So, while every other girl was being courted and planning her marriage, I was stuck in that prison, tutoring wealthy, haughty girls to grow up just like my stepmother.

"When I received the letter from the Lewis family, I knew it was my chance to escape Barclay, and my stepmother, for good. I finally had a reason to leave Barclay. I suppose I could have left at any time I pleased, and I probably should have. My only friend during those agonizing years was Miss Temple, my tutor as a child, and later my colleague.

"And so, here I am, having spent a great deal of the remnants of my inheritance on a first-class ticket. I should have purchased a second-class ticket; it would have not only been cheaper, but also aided me in avoiding my stepmother and her daughter. Besides, now I appear to have more money than I really do. But I guess . . . I guess I just wanted to know what it was like again, to feel wealthy and important once more. I suppose that's just not what was meant to be, though."

Murdoch was silent for a while after Anne finished speaking. He knew she was growing more and more uncomfortable by the second, with the heavy silence like a barrier between him. But he was thinking, contemplating. She had been through so much. The death of her mother, the death of her father. She had been ignored by her stepmother at home, and then ignored by her schoolmates at school. She hadn't exactly led an easy life. _No wonder she always seems so nervous, so insecure._

"I'm sorry I rambled," Anne shook her head. "Sometimes I talk too much. It's one of my many faults, including spilling wine all over myself, running into officers, crying publicly, arguing with people, and making public spectacles of myself in general."

"Well then, I suppose you'll be making the ship sink next, eh?" Murdoch joked, trying to be light when his heart felt heavy.

"Probably," Anne nodded. "Leave it to me to sink an unsinkable ship."

"Well, now that we have both regaled each other with our rather exciting and splendid lives, shall we have tea?" Murdoch asked again, but quickly decided he knew what her answer would be. "Sit here." He gently pushed her down onto the top step of a staircase not far off. "I'll be right back."

"But—" Anne was cut off with a serious look from Murdoch. She sighed as he turned and left. Turning around again, she sat down and slid her feet and knees together and smoothed her dress. Then, she leaned against the side of the stairs in a highly unladylike fashion, feeling the cool metal against her warm skin.

"I said he was proper, formal, and dull, but I may have forgotten to mention that he's also as stubborn as a little child when he wants to be," Anne turned to see Moody stifle a yawn behind her.

"What a pleasant surprise! Are you getting off soon?" Anne asked, rising from her seat on the cold steps. She brushed some stray flecks of dirt from her dress.

"Actually, not until noon," Moody sighed. "And then I'll be back at it from four to five, and then eight to twelve again."

"You must not sleep much, then," Anne tilted her head to the side a few degrees.

"'Sleep?' I'm afraid I've never heard of it; it's not in my vocabulary," Moody grinned, bringing a laugh from Anne. "How are you this fine morning?" Moody's tone indicated that he had asked out of more than politeness.

"Better, thank you," Anne smiled genuinely. "Mr. Murdoch is a fine man."

"Yes, he's a good man to have at sea, and he's a fine gentleman. I'm glad you two have met," Moody nodded, though his mischievous grin and sparkling eyes caused Anne to wonder if he hadn't meant something more. He took a few long, lackadaisical steps past her, leaning lazily over the railing. He heard Anne's heels against the deck as she followed him, clasping her hands before her and resting her elbows on the railing. "I suppose you won't be joining us on the return trip, then?"

"Most likely not. I expect to be with the Lewises for quite a few years, if they'll keep me," Anne sighed, feeling trapped. _What's my life coming to? I'll grow up an unmarried spinster, like Miss Temple! Good heavens! Oh. Wait. I already am grown up. Hm. I have the feeling that my life will last all of ten seconds when I die . . . if your life truly does flash before your eyes._

"I still don't understand it. Why is a beautiful woman like yourself on the grandest ship of the world . . . heading to become a governess to a bunch of spoiled children?" Moody asked. "Pardon my . . . manners."

"Or lack thereof," Murdoch suddenly appeared from, it seemed, thin air. He was holding a saucer in each hand, a cup of tea steadily resting on top. He saw Anne slightly tilt her head to the side again, and handed her a cup.

"Thank you," she gratefully took the warm saucer, wrapping her fingers around the saucer and cup. _I certainly would have spilled the tea. Mayhaps years of life at sea makes one an expert at balance. _She inhaled the sweet fragrance; heavens, she definitely loved her tea. She took a sip. "You made it just the way I like it! How did you know?"

"I watched you last night," Murdoch stated, then blushed slightly. _Think before you speak, Will. Think before you speak._ He quickly took a sip of his tea.

"Mr. Moody, er, James, was asking me why I chose to be a governess," Anne indicated the junior officer with a nod of her head.

"Did it ever occur to you that Miss Stewart's business is hers alone?" Murdoch looked at Moody over the rim of his teacup.

"You're just saying that because you know," Moody replied.

"Gentlemen," Anne warned, glaring them both into an apologetic submission. She turned to Moody with an cheerful smile. "Sometimes . . . God has different plans. Breeding isn't everything. I just wasn't meant to be like the other high society women."

"But you belong there; you deserve it," Murdoch said, setting his cup on its saucer again with a soft _tink._ His blush, which had almost completely disappeared, now deepened as Anne glanced over at him with a soft smile.

"Hm. I don't know that I 'deserve' it," Anne slyly grinned. "I wasn't exactly an angel at the Academy all the time."

"I find that hard to believe," Moody teased, challenging her with his eyes.

"Well," Anne began, accepting the challenge. "There was the time that I tripped Rebecca during the lunch period. Rebecca was an extremely influential girl. She landed face first in her soup. And it wasn't cold soup, either, mind you."

"You could have accidentally tripped her, or she could have slipped on something else," Moody said. _Is that the best you've got?_

"Fine. There was the time I followed Rebecca out to the lake one night. She went swimming . . . in nothing but her unmentionables. I stole her clothes and placed them on the headmistress' desk. _That _was quite the scandal. _Especially _when everyone learned that she hadn't gone swimming alone. Of course, I once dumped ashes from the fireplace in her hair once. That was _almost_ an accident," Anne paused, suppressing a smile as Murdoch's eyes grew wider and wider as she regaled them with her pranks. "I think that's the worst I ever did."

"You really didn't like this Rebecca girl, did you?" Moody teased.

"She was almost as cruel as my stepmother," Anne rolled her eyes, taking a short sip of her tea. "And that's fairly cruel."

"All right, Moody. That's enough. I'll not have you revealing next that Miss Stewart is a murderess," Murdoch nodded to indicate that Moody should leave.

"Aye, Sir," Moody nodded with a grin for Anne. He turned on his heel and retreated into the enclosed Bridge from the starboard wing.

Anne watched Moody disappear, then turned to glare at Murdoch. _What's gotten into him? His mood changes as often as the weather!_ However, Murdoch seemed deep in thought at the moment, and didn't glance her way. Anne was rather relieved; she wasn't exactly behaving as a "finished" woman should.

Murdoch sipped his tea. _Blimey!_ She was the most peculiar thing he'd ever met! She'd be laughing and social one moment, and then sobbing hysterically the next. And when she wasn't doing either of those, she was reminiscing or snickering as she recalled the various less-than-becoming feats she'd accomplished at Barclay. He shook his head slightly, but enough that Anne caught the moment and looked at him oddly.

"Is something the matter, Sir?" Anne politely asked.

"Nothing at all," Murdoch replied, seeming rather distant. However, he glanced over at her this time, and noticed confusion in her eyes. He had spoken with Moody earlier that morning, and the younger man's words continually rang in his head: _Remember, Will. She's not Ada. Don't forget that._ He offered a small smile that was happier than he felt, but it seemed to alleviate Anne's worry.

"I'd better leave," Anne said, her eyes moving to the dark land mass ahead of them, slowly growing larger and larger. "I don't want to keep you from your duties, and we'll be at Queenstown soon enough. Thank you for the tea and the conversation, Mr. Murdoch." Anne smiled, then offered to take Murdoch's cup to the kitchen, along with her own. When they finished arguing over who should and should not take the cups and saucers to the kitchen, it was decided that they'd both walk there together. "Mr. Murdoch, would you tell me if something was bothering you?" Anne regretted the words as soon as they left her mouth. Murdoch's eyes shot straight to hers, and they stopped in their tracks for a few seconds. "Never mind."

"No, what is it?" Murdoch asked, not moving.

"Well . . . it's just that you seem preoccupied with something, perhaps even troubled by something. I was wondering if there was anything I could do to help."

"I shall remember your offer for later," Murdoch tapped his temple with his index and middle fingers. "But for now, Miss Stewart, I simply enjoy being in your company." At this, both blushed, and neither looked at the other for the longest time as they continued walking.

Anne sighed inwardly. Murdoch was one of the most perplexing men she'd ever met. Of course, she hadn't met that many. Courting had been strictly forbidden at Barclay, for both students and employees. _God forbid it hinder my career!_ Besides, she hadn't been interested in the ones that were interested in her. It was clear there was only one thing on their mind, and she was not about to be seen with the likes of them. They were all too arrogant, too stupid. She wanted her ideal husband to have an I.Q. _over _ten, if that was possible.

One hand reached up to her locket instinctively; long, slender fingers played with the cool metal at her throat. Soft skin rubbed over the engraved initials there: EAS. It had been Anne's for as long as she could remember; her parents had given it to her at birth. She never removed her beloved necklace. It was the only constant in her life, aside from the setting and rising of the sun. _What a pathetic life._

Murdoch noticed her hand raise from her side to her throat; without looking he knew what she was doing. Oh dear, he had upset her. He pretended not to notice. _Quick, Will. Think of something to say. Anything. Faster . . . faster!_ "So, what do you enjoy, aside from playing with your necklace?"

"Oh, my locket. Sorry. I have been touching it constantly, haven't I?" Anne let her hand drop from the jewelry. "My parents gave it to me; I've had it for ever." She reached up to unclasp it from her neck, and opened the small heart-shaped necklace to reveal two photographs, small but still clear. "My mother and father." The black and white photos were a bit worn from age, but Murdoch could still see the family resemblances . . . Anne had her father's dark hair and her mother's small but sophisticated looking nose. Cheekbones, eye shapes, jaws . . . Anne was a cut-and-paste model of her parents' best attributes, and they all fit together rather nicely. "I read a lot when I was at Barclay. The Academy had a huge library, and I spent many hours there. I also enjoy dancing, but I never really danced at the balls or parties. What about you?"

"There really isn't much time for hobbies aboard a ship, especially as an officer," Murdoch sighed. He slightly shrugged two large, broad shoulders. He didn't seem to care if it was unbecoming, and neither did Anne. Suddenly, he wondered what it would have been like if he had been the one to pick up a trade ashore. Would he have more hobbies? Would he have, perhaps, married Ada? No, it was doubtful. Ada deserved more than what Murdoch could have offered her. She was a woman meant for balls and parties and social gatherings, bred for perfection and grace. He . . . well, he was the opposite. He was quiet and sometimes shy; he was made for life at sea . . . the discipline, the strength, the adventure. . . . Ada was the most beautiful woman he'd ever laid eyes on. Her midnight-black hair shone in the sun; her green eyes were always alight with gossip and joy. He wasn't the most handsome fellow in the world, in fact, he thought himself rather plain. But Ada was known for courting only the most distinguished and attractive men, so there must have been something in William McMaster Murdoch that caught her eye.

"I suppose not," Anne softly whispered, suddenly feeling awkward.

"I look at the constellations, sometimes. Some of them have quite interesting stories," Murdoch suddenly said, then added, "You have to learn them when you're a sailor."

"I'm afraid I don't know any," Anne shook her head, "Except for maybe the Big Dipper and Orion. Oh, and Cassiopeia. When I was in Barclay, I looked out my window often at night. We were so deep into the country. . . . The sky was pitch-black on clear nights, and the stars were like . . . diamonds. There were so many of them."

Murdoch looked over at Anne. She had a wistful look in her eyes, and he didn't disturb her. They continued in to the kitchen in silence; Murdoch stayed to watch Anne rinse the cups. He stood with his hands clasped behind his back, which was ramrod straight. When she turned, it was evident that she hadn't expected him to still be there. Her hand rose to her throat in surprise, and she closed her eyes as though frightened.

"It's all right," Anne laughed when Murdoch apologized. "I thought you had left."

"I-I was wondering. . . ." Murdoch's voice trailed off, and his gaze shifted nervously to the ground. His cap, which he had been holding in his left hand, was now held between two rather shaky hands. _Just say it! My God man, you're pathetic!_ "I was wondering, if perhaps, you'd maybe . . . if you'd join me for dinner tonight. With the crew."

"I'd very much enjoy it, Sir," Anne cordially accepted with a nod.

"Right then. Good. I'll . . . stop by your stateroom later," Murdoch quickly said, barely stopping to breathe in between words. "I . . . have to go check the mail room."

"Splendid," Anne said, but Murdoch had already gone. She stared at the door swinging closed, and a small smile crossed her face. Had he been _blushing_? _No. Stop it, Anne. It was your imagination. Got it? I-M-A-G-I-N-A-T-I-O-N. So just drop it._

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A/N: The page break thing still isn't working for me. Don't know what's up with that.


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: Don't own. As usual.

_Titanic_ arrived in Queenstown at 11:30 a.m. sharp with no difficulty. However, the crew did have to dock the ship two miles offshore, due to its size. The Queenstown docks were too small to accommodate a ship as grand as _Titanic_.

From the boat deck, Anne watched several small bumboats steam to and from the large ocean liner. They carried many merchants bearing Irish lace, china, clothing, and other products. She had wanted to go down to the promenade and see what else was being sold, but she knew it would be crowded, and she wasn't too entirely fond of being in such close quarters. Instead, she went to the Café Parisien.

Anne sat at a small table near a window, sipping coffee. The Café Parisien had been modeled to look like a sidewalk café in Paris. She had never been to Paris, but judging by the comments from other first-class passengers who had visited, the Café Parisien was exactly like being there. Even the waiters were French!

"Elizabeth? Elizabeth Stewart?" Anne's head shot up at the sound of her name, her _real _name. She scanned the restaurant for a moment, before her eyes rested on the tall, slim figure before her. Her eyes widened as she looked over the woman with fair skin and intensely red hair.

"Rose!" Anne leapt from her chair, and the two embraced. "My word! How good it is to see you! It's been so long!"

"Oh, Elizabeth!" Rose firmly held her stepsister against her, hardly believing she was really there. They hadn't seen each other since they were young children. She stepped back a few steps, taking in her stepsister's figure. "Well, the years have definitely treated you kindly! You've become quite beautiful, Elizabeth. I must say, if you had stayed, you would have certainly been married off by now! Of course, Mother would be trying to kill the both of us."

"Thank you," Anne blushed at the compliment. "You've become quite a catch, too. And you're married? Who was that man you were with last night? Ruth adores you, Rose. If anyone, it'd be me she's trying to kill."

"Oh," Rose's eyes suddenly lost their joy, and she sighed. Rose sat down across from Anne at the table. "That would be Caledon Hockley . . . my fiancé."

"F-Fiancé?" Anne's eyes grew wide. "You're getting married? How wonderful!"

"Ha! Hardly," Rose rolled her eyes. "Really, Elizabeth. I hope you never have to meet him. Speaking of engagements, are you busy later this evening? I'd love if you joined us for dinner." Rose suddenly worried at her lower lip. "Never mind. Don't answer that. Cal's not my fiancé by choice, believe me. Mother arranged it . . . financial issues." Rose leaned her elbow on the back of her chair, resting her temple on her fingers. "You were so lucky to have been sent to Barclay. So, tell me. What did you do after you got away from the Academy?"

"I hired a chauffeur to take me to Southampton, and then boarded _Titanic_," Anne grinned when Rose's face registered confusion. "After I graduated, I stayed and became a tutor. This is the first time I've left Barclay since Ruth sent me there when I was . . . what, nine? I haven't exactly led an adventurous life. I was hoping this would give me a chance to start over."

"And now Mother had to pack us up and send us away on this slave ship, and you haven't gotten rid of us at all," Rose glanced pitifully at Anne. "I'm sorry, Elizabeth. Life is cruel."

"It's not your fault! Honestly, I would have been more surprised to learn that Ruth _hadn't _booked you on the grandest ship in the world's maiden voyage," Anne smiled. "And please, call me 'Anne.'"

"All right . . . Anne," Rose giggled. "So, where are you headed after we dock in New York? Don't worry, I won't tell Mother. She'd probably hunt you down to the ends of the earth if she knew you had left Barclay. Mother's quite talented at making everyone's life miserable . . . but you already know that." Rose sighed, shaking her head. "Anyway, she's in the Palm Court. Cal's in the lounge with the other pompous windbags having brandy and cigars. As far as Mother knows, you and I haven't even crossed paths. And as long as you two don't see each other at all, she'll never know you left England!"

"I take it she's become quite the role model?" Anne raised a brow mockingly. "Anyway, I accepted a position as governess for a wealthy family in Pittsburgh. Or maybe it was Philadelphia. Either way, I'm off to Pennsylvania," Anne explained.

"What's the name of the family?" Rose asked, idly stirring the coffee a waiter had brought her.

"'Lewis,'" Anne replied, and Rose's eyes widened.

"The Lewis family? You're working for George and Abby? Cal is good friends with them. Maybe we'll see each other often!" Rose excitedly exclaimed. _It would be so nice to have a real friend in the world. . . . But, oh, Mother and Eliz—Anne don't get along._ "Well, I don't know."

"Maybe," Anne meekly said, staring into her coffee cup.

"Well, I'd better be off before I'm missed. God forbid I leave Cal for too long," Rose rolled her eyes again, rising from the table. "It was so nice to see you again. Maybe we'll see each other again . . . maybe on the aft promenade tomorrow night?"

"Maybe," Anne's eyes twinkled with mischief.

"Good. Oh, one more thing," Rose's brow furrowed slightly. "Where's your husband?"

"'Husband?'" Anne asked, and Rose nodded, inquiring as to where he was. "I'm not married, Rose. I may be twenty-three, but I haven't found love as you have at nineteen. Heavens, I've never even been courted."

Rose stared at her stepsister in shock. _Poor woman! She deserves better . . . but then again, don't we all?_ "Well, when you find love, you'll know it. I haven't found it yet, Anne. Remember that. I may be engaged, but that doesn't mean I'm in love." She offered a sad smile, then left the café.

Anne stared after her stepsister from the table. _My, she's grown up! I suppose I have, too. She's changed so much. How did I even recognize her? Her hair. And her eyes. Still the same bright, beautiful blue they've always been. Like the ocean. And so mysterious. Like an ocean of secrets. I wonder who this Caledon Hockley fellow is. Rose has a good head on her shoulders. If she says Hockley's no gentleman, then he probably isn't._ She rose from her seat and left the café, knowing she had at least four friends on the ship.

With an hour and a half left before dinner was to begin, Anne sought out Megan. Finding the young woman, Anne asked her to help her dress and style her hair. Megan naturally agreed with much enthusiasm, glad to spend time with one of the very few tolerable first-class passengers aboard the ship.

"I suppose you've heard that one should always ask the servants if one wishes to learn anything about a household, right?" Megan asked, intertwining a thick length of dark green ribbon through Anne's hair, accenting her green eyes.

"Yes," Anne warily and slowly nodded, wondering what the maid was thinking about the saying.

"Well then, I suppose you'll know next that I'm going to ask you just what you think of a certain First Officer," Megan grinned giddily. "Rumor has it that he's quite taken with a certain first-class passenger. Rumor also has it that he hasn't courted anyone in a very, very long time," Megan added, stressing the word "very."

"Hm. News really does travel quickly," Anne blushed, turning her eyes to her hands, which she suddenly found quite interesting, despite the ugly scar on one of her right knuckles. "Well, we've only just met. Well, we met the other day. In Southampton. The day before the ship left. And. . . ." Anne's voice trailed off, and the room grew silent. She could have sworn Megan was grinning, but she wasn't at the mirror, and couldn't see the maid's reflection.

"Have fun tonight," Megan smiled when she finished, adding, "But not too much fun."

Anne laughed at the stewardess's brashness, but nodded. She opted not to wear her white elbow-length gloves, deeming them too fancy and out of place for dinner with the ship's officers. But, then again, they _were _officers. . . . She slid the smooth fabric over her skin, and looked at her reflection in the mirror. She wore a dark green dress. It clung to her as all dresses in that age did, and it was of the softest green velvet. Her eyes seemed alert and bright, and unusually green. She smiled. _But what will Murdoch think?_ Suddenly, there was a knock at her door, and the butterflies that had been flitting about earlier were now shredding their wings from beating against the walls of her stomach so quickly.

"Good eve—" Murdoch's eyes widened ever so slightly at Anne's appearance. "Good evening. A-Are you ready for dinner?" Anne nodded, and he offered her his arm. Then, he escorted her to the crew's mess. _My God she's beautiful. I probably look a mess. Lack of sleep does things to you . . . even when you've been used to it for such a long time._

Anne smiled inwardly. He had truly been speechless! And it was because of her! _Is it somehow possible that I'm not as plain and unattractive as everyone's led me to believe? Could it be? Really? Or am I just fooling myself?_

"Evening, Will. Good evening . . . Miss," a rather young man, maybe slightly older than Moody, sat at the table Anne, Moody, and Murdoch had occupied the previous evening. He rose from his chair upon seeing Anne.

"Miss Stewart," Anne smiled.

"Miss Stewart, I would like to introduce Fifth Officer Harold Lowe." Murdoch nodded to the young man. "Miss Stewart is joining us from the first-class."

"It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Miss Stewart. Especially now that I've a face to put with the description," Lowe smirked; his eyes moved to Murdoch.

"'Description?'" Anne asked, confused.

"Oh, yes. All Will could talk about—" Lowe began.

"I think I'll get us coffee and tea. Do you want coffee, Lowe?" Murdoch glared at the younger man in warning, who smiled with a nod. Murdoch then stormed into the kitchen.

"Are you and Mr. Moody good friends?" Anne asked as she tilted her head to the side and grinned. She sat down across the table from Lowe, who also took a seat.

"How did you guess?" Lowe grinned, sitting across from Anne. "So, Miss Stewart, what do you think of _Titanic_?"

"First of all, please call me 'Anne.' And I think it's a marvelous ship, and we are all quite lucky to have someone such as Mr. Murdoch taking such good care of us," Anne beamed.

"Splendid," Lowe smiled. "But you must call me 'Harry,' then. Did you get a chance to go to the market on the aft promenade?"

"No, I didn't," Anne regretfully shook her head as Murdoch emerged from the kitchen. "I would have liked to, though. I've never been to Ireland, or Scotland, for that matter. England is the farthest I've ever traveled, actually."

"Well, you'll have to book lots of staterooms on White Star Line ships and travel with us! There are many lovely places I know you'd appreciate," Lowe nodded, taking a long sip of his coffee. "And Will's from Scotland, if he hasn't already told you. I'm sure he'd love to take you!"

"Dalbeattie," Anne softly answered.

"Aye," Murdoch nodded, sitting down beside Anne. "Dalbeattie." He looked over at Anne. "It truly is a swell place. You'll never meet kinder people. It's so quiet, so peaceful. You'd love it, Anne. Miss Stewart. My apologies." Murdoch glanced down at his coffee.

"I'm sure I would," Anne spoke softly.

"Do you have any family in New York?" Lowe asked a few minutes later.

"No. I'm going to Pennsylvania," Anne shook her head with a small smile. "My parents are dead, and I was an only child. However, I've learned that my stepmother and stepsister are on _Titanic_! I just spoke with my stepsister, Rose, this afternoon!"

"You did?" Murdoch was suddenly interested, and Anne nodded. "How did that go?"

"Oh, Rose was as nice as always. She was never cruel to me; it was always Ruth that was the cold-hearted one," Anne sighed. "Rose promised not to tell Ruth she'd seen me."

"What's their last name?" Murdoch asked, and Anne told him. "Red-haired? Is there a tall fellow with dark hair with them?"

"Yes," Anne nodded. "That would be Mr. Caledon Hockley, Rose's fiancé. It was arranged."

"Yes, I've seen them," Murdoch nodded. "_She's _your stepmother? She's nothing like you!"

"I know," Anne nodded. "That's why I don't speak with her."

Murdoch and Lowe nodded understandingly. Their food was brought out from the kitchen; this time, the steward carried three plates, instead of two. He nervously waited for Murdoch's reaction, and Anne bit her lip to suppress an amused smile.

"Lamb," Lowe chewed on a piece of meat.

"Lamb?" Anne asked. "As in, the little white fluffy things that go 'baa?'"

"Yes," Murdoch chuckled. "That would be a lamb. You don't like it?"

"No. I mean, I don't know. I've never tasted it," Anne replied, slightly embarrassed.

"Well, there's no better time than the present," Murdoch said.

"I suppose not," Anne replied, taking a small bite of the lamb. She swallowed, and almost coughed it back up from laughing when she realized Lowe and Murdoch were both watching her, waiting for her response. "It's good."

"What's good?" Just then, Moody strode into the room. "Blimey! Anne, you look beautiful tonight! Not that you don't every night."

"Why thank you, even if you've only ever seen me one night," Anne sweetly smiled, then laughed. "I'm so glad you could join us tonight."

"Well then, you're probably the only one," Moody smiled, sitting down beside Lowe, across from Murdoch. "How are you this evening?"

"A bit . . . overwhelmed, I must admit," Anne laughed. "I managed to lose myself trying to find the library, and then again trying to search for the purser. I finally gave up and spent most of my afternoon reading Jane Eyre."

"Yes, this ship is rather complicated. How these foreigners find their way around I'll never know," Moody shook his head.

"It's all rather exciting, seeing so many different people who speak so many different languages!" Anne animatedly exclaimed. "Although, I suppose this is nothing new to any of you, sailing all the time."

"Sometimes . . . it just becomes a job. And then you lose appreciation for it," Moody sighed. "Or so I've heard. But yes, I agree, it is rather exciting!"

"So, Harry, what part do you play in keeping everything running smoothly?" Anne asked as she lowered her fork to her plate; she tilted her head slightly to the side, and Murdoch noticed this was as frequent a habit as worrying at her locket.

"James and I check the air and water temperatures daily," Lowe said, nodding to Moody, whose food was just arriving. "Unfortunately, we don't get to constantly strut around like a martinet, like Mr. First Officer here."

"Oh, Mr. Murdoch is rather modest, I think," Anne glanced over at Murdoch, who'd been silent for quite some time. A small smile crossed her features when their eyes met. "I rather enjoy our time together."

"Clearly, you haven't spent time with me," Lowe boasted and airily stuck his nose in the air mockingly, then laughed.

"I doubt a woman of Miss Stewart's class would spend time with you if you paid her to," Murdoch dryly said, as he took a sip of his tea.

"Oh, sod off, Will!" Lowe waved the senior officer off with a wave of his hand.

"My, but there seems to be a blurred distinction between senior officers and junior officers," Anne grinned. "I wonder what Captain Smith would have to say about it."

"Why, do you see him?" Moody's eyes suddenly flew to the doors, as did Lowe's.

"No, but I imagine if I did, he wouldn't be too pleased," Anne scolded, albeit somewhat jokingly.

"Can you act half-civilized in a lady's presence for once?" Murdoch asked.

"Can you?" Lowe retorted, although it seemed the jokes were becoming slightly less light.

"Gentlemen!" Anne warned, her voice firm and slightly upset. She'd perfected that tone over the years at Barclay. "My, you're worse than the girls at Barclay Academy!" She sighed as a round of apologies was made. "Honestly, I'll be quite surprised if the three of you will not have killed one another by the time we dock in New York!"

Conversation became increasingly light after Anne's comment. The men tolerated each other once again, but Anne couldn't shake the feeling that something was the matter with Murdoch. He barely said a word to anyone, and continually seemed to be fidgeting with something, whether it be his napkin or his hands. When they finished dinner, he seemed rather glad to leave.

"I suppose I'll see you _fine _gentlemen tomorrow," Anne teased as Murdoch rose and slid her chair out for her.

"I _suppose_," Moody grinned, bidding the two good night, as did Lowe.

"I apologize for our behavior in there," Murdoch softly told Anne once they'd left the crew's mess.

"There's no need to apologize," Anne shook her head. "I completely understand. I had no friends at Barclay, aside from one of my colleagues. The others were cruel and heartless. After being forced to endure them for so many years. . . ." Anne's voice trailed off and she smiled sadly. "Well, I'll just say that I admire all of you for enduring each other on a ship, no less, for such a long time."

"Honestly, we're usually not so temperamental. I think it's because this is the maiden voyage of the grandest ship in the world. There are so many wealthy and famous passengers, and we cannot afford to make even one mistake," Murdoch sighed and shook his head. He removed his cap and ran his hand through his hair.

"Don't worry about it so. What could possibly go wrong? We're on an unsinkable ship, or so they say, with a very highly skilled crew. There is so much to keep everyone occupied that I doubt anyone will become overly upset," Anne comforted. "I trust in you completely, Mr. Murdoch. You'll get us safely to New York."

Murdoch stopped walking, and since Anne's hand was on his elbow, she stopped, as well. He stared deeply into her eyes as she turned to face him. But her eyes held no humor; she was serious. A smile played on the corners of his mouth when she tilted her head to the side. _No, she's not like Ada. Not like Ada at all._

"What is it?" she asked. "Mr. Murdoch?"

"'Will,'" he quietly whispered, his words almost completely swallowed by the waves that lapped against the sides of the ship.

"I'm sorry?" she shook her head ever so slightly as her eyebrows knitted together for a moment.

"Call me 'Will,'" Murdoch softly told her. A breeze arose and caressed her cheek with a renegade lock of dark hair, and he suppressed the urge to brush it away from her face.

"You must call me 'Anne,' then," Anne said. She pushed the lock of hair behind her ear. _It's a breach of protocol, Anne. Don't. Don't! Why did you say that? Do you have any idea what you're doing? No, not really._

Murdoch raised his hand ever so slowly. He placed it against the soft skin of Anne's cheek. How he'd wanted to do that for so long! He felt her briefly shiver when he touched her, but she did not shy away. Instead, she slowly closed her eyes and leaned into his hand. When she opened them, he saw a happiness he did not know existed lighting her eyes.

Anne felt a wave of . . . something . . . flood through her body. She had never, ever so much as danced with a man other than her father. A tutor dancing at the Barclay galas? It was simply not done. And now . . . here she was, on the grandest, largest ship in the world, staring into the blue-gray eyes of the First Officer. _This truly is the ship of dreams!_ Her skin seemed to tingle where he had touched her cheek. His skin was rough and calloused from years of hard work at sea. He was not an overweening aristocrat who sat behind a desk, like the men she'd known all her life. No. William Murdoch actually worked for a living.

Slowly, reluctantly, Murdoch let his hand fall from her face. Anne Stewart had not lived an easy life, or a promiscuous one, and he was not about to ruin her reputation. She had never been kissed, and he was not going to be the man who would steal her first. A first kiss was something special to be shared with someone special.

_Well, what did you expect? A passionate kiss? Be realistic, Anne. Don't let your emotions get the best of you._ Anne hid her disappointment when Murdoch dropped his hand from her cheek. The cool breeze suddenly hit her now bare skin with a chill, and she shivered a bit.

"I . . . would you wait here a minute?" Murdoch suddenly asked. "I'll be back in just a minute or two."

"Certainly," Anne nodded, still in a daze. She watched Murdoch quickly walk away, and hoped his disappearance had nothing to do with what had just happened. _Well, nothing really happened, anyway._ _But what if he wanted me to do something else? What if he wanted me to walk away to prove that my heart is not easily given away to childish infatuations? Good gracious!_ Utterly confused, she slowly walked to the gunwale. Anne crossed her arms across her chest and felt goose bumps on her arms. The sleeves of her dress did not cover most of her arms, exposing the sensitive flesh to the cool air. She rubbed her hands up and down her arms for warmth, then rested her elbows and forearms on the railing. That was exactly how Murdoch found her.

Murdoch silently approached Anne. He could see her form silhouetted against the moon at the railing. She seemed so peaceful, so calm. He carried a small bundle under one arm, and paused several times as though wondering whether he really should approach the young woman or not. Finally, he walked up behind her, gently draping the gift around her shoulders. He heard her gasp in surprise and met her eyes as soon as she turned. "I had a moment to browse the market when we were in Queenstown, and . . . and I remembered the other night. . . ." Murdoch's eyes fell to the ground. "I thought . . . I thought maybe you'd need it."

Anne's face slowly lit up with a smile. She reached up to finger the intricate white lace shawl Murdoch had wrapped around her shoulders. It was light but warm, and she loved it. "Thank you," she whispered. She felt her throat heat with a blush. "It was very thoughtful of you. I'll treasure it always." _Brilliant, Anne. Just brilliant._

"I hope it's warm enough," was all Murdoch could say.

"Yes, it is," Anne nodded.

The two turned from the railing and began to walk side by side down the length of the ship. Not a word was said between them, but neither seemed to mind. All of a sudden, Murdoch slowly reached over and Anne found her fingers intertwined with his as they held hands. To any other passerby, they would have seemed an innocent and naive couple. And deep down, that was what they both wished.

A/N: Decided to make the page break a little more interesting this time.


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: Don't own. Never will. End of story.

* * *

Friday morning dawned clear and sunny. Anne had become accustomed to the sounds of the ship, and fell asleep to the sound of the engines. Now, she awakened to the sounds of the crew working about the ship. She glanced at her pocket watch in the early morning light. The time was quarter till seven, and Anne had another hour and forty-five minutes before breakfast would be served. Not one to waste the daylight, she searched for Megan and asked the maid to help her dress.

Anne could not decipher the silly grin Megan had on her face the entire time she helped Anne ready for the day, and by the time she reached the poop deck, she still could not figure out the meaning of the smile.

She watched the stewards walk the dogs, and counted at least six of the furry animals. Then, she went to the railing to watch the sunrise. It had begun not too long ago, and she smiled as she felt a slight warmth on her face and arms. The weather seemed to be steadily cooling, however. Fortunately, she had taken her shawl with her, and gratefully wrapped it closer around her. She closed her eyes, and dreamed she could feel Murdoch's arms around her, as they'd been the previous evening. Her stomach was aflutter, and she had never felt so alive before in her life. _Is this love? No, it can't be. It's far too soon. It's an infatuation._ Still, she could not erase the images of the handsome officer from her mind.

"I shall be presumptuous and assume that you have not eaten breakfast." Anne turned to see Murdoch standing a few feet behind her, a cup of tea in each hand.

"You would be correct in your assumption," Anne smiled with amusement. She accepted the steaming hot cup of tea with a soft "thank-you." They both turned to watch the sunrise. "Tell me, Mr. Murdoch, do you ever sleep?"

"Yes," Murdoch nodded; he wondered if he should remind her to address him by his first name. "Sometimes. But not often. You get used to it. You don't seem to sleep much either."

"Well, I was usually up late at Barclay grading essays or helping someone or any other number of tasks. And I always had to wake early enough to dress, eat breakfast, and prepare for the day before the students were awake. It's just become a habit to go to sleep late and rise early," Anne shrugged, then took a sip of her tea. "Don't you have to be on watch? I don't want to keep you."

"Don't worry. Lowe is at the Bridge now, and the experience is good for him. Besides, we'll be able to see any icebergs or growlers in time to steer around them," Murdoch reassured her.

"'Growlers?'" Anne asked.

"A growler is a dark colored slab of ice that has broken off from a larger iceberg or an ice pack," Murdoch explained. "Not to worry, we haven't received any ice warnings yet. And if we do, it's nothing unusual. Ice is common here in April."

Anne nodded with a small, forced smile. _Ice? There will be ice? Well, don't worry about it. Wil—Mr. Murdoch said ice is common. And he's plenty of skill. He'll take good care of us._ She took a sip of tea to hide her doubts, but Murdoch saw the fear in her eyes.

"I will get you to New York safe and sound," Murdoch took one of her hands in his. "That is a promise."

Anne nodded slowly, with more belief than before. _He thinks I doubt him. Why do I doubt him? I shouldn't. His family is a seafaring one. He knows the ways of the oceans. I'm but a passenger. _"I believe you."

The two drank their tea in silence for a few minutes. They watched the sun rise, they listened to the waves lap against the iron sides of the ship. They looked at the clear, cloudless day that surrounded them, and at the smooth, glassy surface of the ocean. It was completely flat and motionless.

"Do you plan on remaining a governess for the rest of your life?" Murdoch asked Anne.

"Good heavens, no," Anne shook her head. "I hope not, at least. In all honesty, I don't even want to go to the Lewises now. But for someone like me . . . this is as much as I can hope for. Under different circumstances, I doubt I ever would have heard of Barclay Academy. But, God had other plans for us, I suppose. Have you ever read Jane Eyre? Probably not. Sometimes, I feel like Jane, like I'm trapped and there's nowhere for me to escape to, nowhere to run. My life just keeps plunging forward like a locomotive, and there's nothing I can do to alter its course. Like Jane, I spent my childhood in a finishing school, when most other wealthy children were playing with toys. Instead of a coming out party in a house full of eligible men, I was teaching arithmetic. And now, when I should be married and with child, if not already a mother, I'm on my way to spend at least the next few years tutoring two spoiled children. Perhaps if I had stayed in England, or if I had purchased a second-class ticket, I would have more money, more of a future. At least I'd have something of a dowry. But, now I've nothing but a few thousand pounds." She paused and blushed, then shook her head. "You really shouldn't let me drivel on in such a manner."

"I enjoy the conversation. And you have your intelligence, your clever wit. That's worth _something_," Murdoch's brow furrowed slightly. "Maybe the Lewises will find someone else, or perhaps your services will not be needed for an extensive period of time. You'll be free to do whatever you want. You could marry a wealthy businessman and own a house in New York City and another in Paris."

"Well, a businessman would be the last man I'd want to marry, but other than that. . . ." Anne softly smiled. "What about you? What kind of woman would be your ideal wife?"

"What makes you think I'm not married?" Murdoch asked, feigning surprise.

"Well, one of the stewardesses . . . she said you weren't," Anne felt her throat blushing profusely. Had Megan been misinformed? Was Murdoch married? _Anne, you're such a fool!_

"I suppose that would have been Megan Carter?" Murdoch asked, chuckling when Anne's surprised eyes confirmed his guess. "Aye, she's quite talkative. I once almost had a wife. Her name was Ada. I met her in 1907 on a voyage to Australia. She was from New Zealand. We were going to be married; we were going to live at 94, Belmont Road, Southampton. It was a fairly new brick house, and we were both thrilled." Murdoch paused to sigh deeply, as though it pained him to continue. He saw Anne open her mouth to tell him to stop, but he continued before she could speak. "We never married. On our wedding day, I stood at the alter for hours. I was there after everyone else had left, after they had realized that she was not coming.

"She wrote to me much later. She said she wanted someone home with her constantly, and obviously, my career would not allow that. And so . . . she left me. We had already paid for the wedding, for the honeymoon, for the house. A lot of money was lost that day. But more importantly than the money, I had lost the woman I had been certain would be 'Mrs. Murdoch.'

"I haven't seen her since. I've heard she's married so some wealthy aristocrat in New York City or somewhere thereabouts, and very happy."

Anne stared at Murdoch. A heavy silence hung between them, and she had nothing to say. No words to comfort him. Nothing to soothe his soul, which she knew was in pain. Speechless, she placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. He looked up into her eyes, and she could tell he was fighting to control his emotions. The life of a seaman was definitely a difficult one.

"I-I don't know what to say," Anne shook her head. She set her teacup on the deck near the gunwale. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be. It's not your fault," Murdoch exhaled deeply; he watched as she gently took his teacup from his hands and set it down beside hers. He searched Anne's eyes for her true feelings; they always revealed her innermost thoughts. He almost cried when he searched long enough. She was sad. Lonely. Angry. Afraid. Vulnerable. He wanted to pull her close; he wanted someone to tell them both that everything would be all right, but he knew that would not happen. A happy ending? Happy endings were for those who didn't want to face the harsh cruelty of reality. He had been jilted at the alter. Anne hadn't even gotten as far as finding someone to be jilted by. He reached up to wipe a tear away when it rolled out from the corner of Anne's eye. "Please, don't cry."

"I'm sorry," Anne weakly laughed, but her laughter was hollow and forced. "You were the one who endured all of that, not me."

"And I'm glad," Murdoch softly whispered. He pulled her close. He stroked her hair. "I'm glad it was me and not you."

Anne leaned in close against Murdoch's chest. It reminded her so very much of the scene that had played out but two days ago. She felt the solidness of his chest through the warmth of his greatcoat and the coldness of the buttons; she listened to his heartbeat. She smelled his aftershave and felt safe. She never wanted the security she felt at that instant to ever go away.

Murdoch slowly and reluctantly pulled away from Anne. She had felt so small in his arms, and yet so perfect. But they were receiving curious stares, and he had no desire to tarnish her reputation. He picked up their cups, and they slowly proceeded to the crew's mess.

"Anne!" Anne and Murdoch both stopped on their way to the crew's mess to see Moody swiftly approaching. He glanced at Murdoch. "I need to speak with Anne."

"Well, you can say it in front of the both of us." Anne tilted her head.

"Hm. I'd rather not," Moody smirked.

"I'd probably rather not hear it," Murdoch muttered as he continued through the doors that led to the mess hall. He turned to Anne. "Stay and talk. I'll be back in a minute."

"So, what's this pressing matter of urgency?" Anne asked.

"The 'pressing matter of urgency' regards a certain spectacle that the Captain happened to witness on the poop deck not five minutes ago," Moody seriously said, though he suppressed a grin at the bit of news.

"What!" Anne's voice rose so high she squealed. She clamped a hand over her mouth, grabbed Moody's wrist, and dragged him to a more private area on deck. A bit more quietly this time, she repeated her question.

"You heard me," Moody nodded.

"Murdoch's career is on the line now, isn't it?" Anne softly whispered, and Moody slowly nodded again. "It's all my fault."

"Now, don't go blaming yourself. I saw it. It wasn't. I just wanted to warn you," Moody calmly told her. "Breathe, Anne. You're turning red."

"Oh? Sorry," Anne fought the blush that was slowly consuming not just her throat, but also her face. "Is . . . Is the Captain around?"

"He's in the wheelhouse. It's the small room in the enclosed Bridge house," Moody explained. "Come on."

Murdoch opened the door from the kitchen to find Chief Officer Henry Wilde sitting at one of the tables. _He wasn't there a minute ago._ Wilde rose from his seat and approached the lower officer.

"So," he began, without greeting. "I take it you couldn't have controlled yourself until you were in private?" He raised a questioning eyebrow as Murdoch opened his mouth to defend himself. "Will, you were _directly _in front of the Bridge. Might I add that Captain Smith was there at the time? And Moody saw it, too."

"It was an embrace," Murdoch calmly said.

"Between a passenger and an officer," Wilde added. He ran a hand through his hair. "Bloody hell, Will. You should have just gone ahead kissed her on the spot!"

"I told her," Murdoch said.

"What?" Wilde frowned, confused. Registration dawned on his face. "You told _her_ about _her_?"

"Which 'her' are we talking about?" Murdoch asked.

"Ada! And Miss Stewart!" Wilde exclaimed. He was half excited for his friend, and half frustrated that Murdoch had even told her in the first place. He smacked his hand against his forehead in a display of his aforementioned frustration. "Good God, Will! Do you _want _to remain single for the rest of your life?"

"Yes, it's my life-long goal. I want to die single," Murdoch laconically replied. "If you'll excuse me, An—Miss Stewart is waiting."

"Actually, last I saw, James was taking her to the Bridge," Wilde somewhat regretfully informed his friend.

"What! Thanks for stalling." At this, Murdoch sprinted from the crew's mess and toward the Bridge.

* * *

A/N: Oh em gee the page break is working once more! I really seriously deeply do apologize for not updating sooner, but between babysitting, a part-time job, an Advanced Placement course, college search, and family issues, I haven't had time. Thank you all for being so patient with me!


	7. Chapter 7

Disclaimer: Anne is mine. Megan is mine. I've taken a bit of artistic license with the historical characters, but I've tried to keep them somewhat close to their movie counterparts. Wow. That was longer than usual.

* * *

"No, Sir, it was _entirely _my fault," Anne shook her head. She looked pleadingly up into Captain Edward John Smith's eyes. "I swear." 

"There's no need for that," Smith shook his head. "Miss Stewart, I thank you for defending Mr. Murdoch, but I clearly saw what happened. Now I understand why he had Lightoller take his place at dinner last night with me."

"W-What?" Anne asked as her face paled ever so slightly.

"Each night, I eat dinner with one of the officers. The first night I eat with Chief Officer, then First Officer, and so on and so forth. Last night Mr. Murdoch was supposed to accompany me. Well, I found myself with Mr. Lightoller as my dinner companion, not that I have anything against the man. Am I correct, Miss Stewart?" Smith asked, and sighed when the young woman slowly nodded her head. "You didn't know, don't worry about it. Although, I will have to have a talk with Mr. Murdoch. Ah, here he is now."

Everyone in the small room turned to see Murdoch run to the doorway. His eyes immediately sought out Anne, and then turned to Smith. He swallowed hard when he realized just what he'd gotten himself into, and all over a simple embrace. _Blimey._

"Good of you to join us," Smith nodded. He turned to Anne. "Miss Stewart, thank you. You may leave now."

Anne ripped her eyes away from the floor. She glanced up at Smith with determination, as though ready to let loose with a huge tirade. However, Murdoch saw all the fight leave her eyes when she turned to him. Instead, her eyes were swimming with unshed tears. She turned back to Smith with a swift nod, and fled from the Bridge.

"Well. Mr. Murdoch. You could have at least waited until you were in private." Smith's words echoed Wilde's.

Anne fled down the stairs and corridors until she reached her stateroom. She flung the door open forcefully, before slamming it behind her. She leaned against the cool wood and let her tears finally flow. _Now you've done it. Just when you thought you found someone, you not only ruin the entire relationship, but also his career. Splendid! Bravo! Wouldn't they be pleased to see you now at Barclay? This is Elizabeth Stewart. She's never been courted in her life. In fact, she's rather well-known for destroying both relationships and careers! Stay away! She's cursed!_ Her depressed body slid down the door, stopping when she hit the floor. She laid down on her side in front of the door and curled up into a ball, letting her tears flow.

_Where is she?_ Murdoch asked himself the same question repeatedly. He'd searched the top decks as nonchalantly as possible. He couldn't dare go to her cabin and see if she was there, but he _had _sent a steward to see if she was in her stateroom. The steward had replied that she was not there. Murdoch had then sent the man to the library, the dining saloon, and the Café Parisien. And then to the pool, the squash court, the gymnasium, the Turkish baths, the lounge, the reception room, the wireless room, and then finally the darkroom on A-deck. But it seemed as though Anne Stewart had disappeared from the face of the earth. But he _had_ to see her again. He knew dinner was out of the question; Smith had given him explicit orders to join him in the dining saloon. Would she be there? Or would she lock herself in her stateroom throughout dinnertime? He nearly drove himself insane with his unanswered questions.

"Get some sleep," Lightoller nodded to his friend when he entered the Bridge to relieve Murdoch. "You look tired. And you have to eat with the Captain tonight, Will. Don't forget it."

"Thanks," Murdoch replied. _How could I ever forget?_ "Oh, the fire in boiler room five has been extinguished."

"Finally!" Lightoller exclaimed with relief. "Good night, Will."

"G'night, Lights," Murdoch replied tiredly. How was he ever going to survive dinner? He went down the passage to his quarters. He opened the door and stared blankly into the dark room. He flipped the switch on, and then flipped it back off again. He still had plenty of time for some sleep before dinner.

"Is something the matter, Miss?" Megan asked, her bright eyes filled with concern as she opened the door to Anne's stateroom. It had become a custom now for her to help Anne dress for dinner, and they had become friends, too. "You look sad."

"Oh, it's, I just. . . ." Anne's voice slowly faded into nothingness, and she looked at the maid with unshed tears. "Mr. Murdoch and I . . . I don't think we can even be friends any longer."

"Well, let's start dressing you for dinner, because you haven't much time, and you can tell me everything," Megan gently said in a motherly fashion that Anne was certain could have gotten even the most embittered criminal to confess all.

"And that's not even the worst part," Anne said, after having explained the entire morning to Megan in great detail. "Well, almost. I left. I ran away. And I _completely _left him there with Smith! I felt like such an idiot! And then I ran back here and spent my entire afternoon locked in here. Mr. Murdoch even sent a steward down here to see if I was indeed in my stateroom. I made him promise not to tell Mr. Murdoch that I was here, but I don't know if he listened or not."

"Mmm, yes," Megan said, nodded, three hairpins between pursed lips as she styled Anne's hair. "He did. Barnes came to me earlier today about some 'bloody Scotsman' who was sending him on an errand to find some first-class girl by the name of Elizabeth Stewart." She grinned with amusement at Anne's softly-lit reflection in the mirror. "He must be desperate if he's sending John all over the ship." She noted Anne's confused expression. "He sent Barnes everywhere, from the dining saloon to the Turkish baths to the dark room!"

"Now I feel wonderful," Anne rolled her eyes.

"Ah, he'll get over it. It's his job, running errands," Megan reasoned.

"On account of me?" Anne raised a brow, and Megan laughed. "Oh, and then Rose, my stepsister, invited me to the dining saloon this evening. Well, I couldn't say 'no' to her, but I'll have to endure my stepmother! I think I may just leave early and see if I know anyone in the crew's mess. I need to talk with Moody, anyway."

"Seems like you have your evening planned," Megan smiled as she inserted the last pin. "There. You look beautiful."

"Thank you, Megan," Anne attempted a weak smile as she looked at her reflection. She was dressed in a navy-blue dress with a creamy-white bodice and long, tight sleeves. It was a warm dress, and so she left the shawl Murdoch had given her on her bed.

"Good luck," Megan called out as she watched Anne walk down the hallway unescorted. She smirked. Had Anne completely forgotten that Murdoch was eating dinner with the Captain tonight? They'd be in the same room together. Even if it was a 10,488 square foot room.

"Anne!" Rose called out with relief upon seeing her stepsister. She ran from Cal's side to embrace the slightly older woman. "My, you look beautiful tonight."

"Thank you. You do, too," Anne smiled. However, Anne's smile quickly faded when her gaze rested on the haughty face of Ruth DeWitt Bukater. "Good evening, Ruth."

"You've certainly changed," Ruth hid her surprise with the comment, though it was indiscernible whether she meant it in praise or criticism. Anne decided it was criticism.

"Anne, my fiancé, Cal Hockley," Rose introduced the two.

"A pleasure," Hockley flatly said.

"Shall we?" Rose asked, as he continued to escort her to the dining saloon.

"Quite the charmer, isn't he?" Rose whispered sarcastically.

"Yes, quite the catch," Anne whispered in reply. "Well done."

They entered the dining saloon a few moments later. It was already partially filled with people. Hockley and Ruth made their way around the tables as though they knew exactly where they were going; Rose and Anne followed somewhat sadly, as though being led to their deaths. However, Ruth made _quite _the display of trying _not _to make a display about their usual table being filled. There were three seats, and she quickly volunteered that Anne find another seat.

"I'm certain you don't mind, right?" Ruth asked with all the kindness of a serpent.

"I'll sit with Anne. You two sit here," Rose boldly suggested, but Hockley wouldn't hear of it.

And so, that was how Anne found herself seated with Rose to her right and First Officer William Murdoch to her left. Her jaw dropped slightly in surprise, and Murdoch's eyes widened ever so slightly as she seated herself. Anne immediately cast her gaze to her plate and fought the blush she felt.

"My daughter's friend Elizabeth Stewart is joining us this evening," Ruth announced. She said the word "friend" with as much distaste as she could, glaring at Anne but smiling benevolently at everyone else. She had no idea that Hockley, Rose, Anne, and she were not the only ones who knew their secret.

"Were you here two evenings ago?" an older gentleman asked, whom Rose whispered was Colonel Archibald Gracie.

"Yes, briefly," Anne nodded, embarrassed.

"Ah," Gracie nodded. He said nothing more, as though he sensed Anne's embarrassment.

"You are a friend of Rose's?" a kindly man asked with an Irish accent; Rose told Anne he was Thomas Andrews, master shipbuilder.

"Yes, I suppose you could say that," Anne smiled politely.

"So, Elizabeth, where have you been all these years?" Hockley smirked with cruelty in his eyes.

"Well, I attended Barclay Academy in England for a while, and then tutored there after I graduated," Anne softly replied.

"You _tutored_?" another woman asked, as though Anne had admitted she'd been a prostitute.

"I think it's a fine profession, especially for a smart young woman like Miss Stewart," a brown-haired woman who appeared to be forty or forty-five nodded with a kind smile.

"That's Margaret Brown," Rose whispered.

"And the older woman who stared at me like I'd become a pagan?" Anne asked.

"Lady Lucille Duff Gordon," Rose whispered again.

"Where are you headed now?" Ruth asked.

"I'm going to Pennsylvania," Anne replied. She decided to reveal only the most general facts when possible.

"What are you going to do?" Hockley questioned.

"I'll be tutoring," Anne answered.

"For who?" Lady Gordon inquired, taking a sip of her wine.

"The Lewis family," Anne replied.

"Splendid people," Gracie nodded.

"Yes, but they probably only hired her out of pity. Lord knows they have far too soft hearts," Ruth shook her head. "Always giving to the poor and helping those in need."

"I wouldn't know. I've never met them," Anne quietly said, so softly she didn't think anyone heard. _"Poor?" You think I'm poor and "in need?" Ruth, if I'm any of those, it's because you made me that way! My word, this is more of an interrogation than a dinner!_

"So, you aren't married, then?" Hockley asked, taking a delicate bite of a caviar-covered cracker.

"No," Anne shook her head.

"Engaged?" Lady Gordon inquired.

"No," Anne shook her head again. She began wringing her napkin under the table. Why had she agreed to this? Their meals hadn't even been served yet!

"How old are you?" Hockley asked, pretending to be more interested than he really was.

"Twenty-three," Anne replied.

"My heavens!" Lady Gordon exclaimed.

"She's just waiting for the right man, right, Honey?" Mrs. Brown asked, and Anne nodded. "See? She's got a good head on her shoulders. She'll make her husband proud someday."

"A good wife shouldn't make her husband proud with her intelligence, but with her reputation and social graces," Hockley snapped, and Anne could see Rose visibly tense at that comment.

"And money, I suppose money is important as well, isn't it, Mr. Hockley? For the world revolves around money and its egotistical financiers," Anne quipped as she raised a brow at Hockley.

"Yes, no one can be happy without it," Ruth quickly said. "Isn't that right, Elizabeth? You aren't happy, are you? You seem _terribly _sad."

Anne held her tongue. She bit her lip and wrung her napkin. This evening had been getting progressively worse and worse. She couldn't even bear to glance in Murdoch's direction anymore, or Smith's, for that matter. Both men seemed stunned into silence by the sheer rudeness of their dinner companions. However, Murdoch did reach over to rest his hand atop of hers so she would stop wringing her napkin.

"I think it's dead now," Murdoch light-heartedly whispered.

"Are your parents wealthy?" a middle-aged man with a mustache inquired.

"John Jacob Astor," Rose whispered.

"They're dead," Anne dully replied, taking a sip of her wine.

"Did they leave you anything?" Ruth asked, as though it was a test.

"Yes, they left me a rather large fortune," Anne said, keeping eye contact until then. She then looked around the table at the others. "I was to inherit a great deal of money after my parents' deaths, but my father remarried after my mother passed away. He died a year later of heartbreak and depression, because he'd never really loved my stepmother, anyway. She endured me for a year, then shipped me off to finishing school. She then paid for my tuition with my inheritance, and sent me the remainder of the money after I graduated. But, I know that she kept a great deal of the money, because I calculated the sum, and I wasn't given half as much as I should have received." Anne glared at Ruth, who stared back with surprise. "Anyway, I really must be returning to my cabin. I fear I haven't been feeling well this entire voyage. It's probably the sea travel. It's been a _pleasure _meeting you all," Anne sarcastically smiled, rising from her chair. To her surprise, Captain Smith, Mr. Murdoch, Mr. Andrews, and Colonel Gracie all rose from their chairs out of respect as she did. She smiled kindly to each, locking eyes with all but Murdoch. Then, she swiftly departed the dining saloon, hoping they weren't stabbing her in the back _too _enthusiastically. _They've probably forgotten all about me._

Her pocket watch read 9:50 when Anne decided not to dwell on the horrid evening any longer. She did not bother to change out of her evening gown, but instead grabbed her shawl. The shawl _he _had given her. The memory brought fresh tears to her eyes. She had ruined it. She should have pushed him away. _What's done is done._ She wrapped the shawl around herself, then ascended the stairs of the Grand Staircase to the promenade deck.

Anne walked around for a long time. She suddenly found herself at the bow of the ship past the forecastle deck. She leaned against the railing, looking out at the great expanse of stars and sky and water. It was all so peaceful . . . it reminded her of the peace she'd had earlier that day. Until it had all been shattered to the point of never being fixed again. Or so she thought. A single tear rolled down her cheek, and she quickly wiped it away. She remembered hoping earlier that maybe Moody would be eating in the crew's mess. As she turned away from the bow, she saw Murdoch standing at the Bridge. He was starboard of the wheelhouse. And he was watching her.

Anne immediately turned her gaze elsewhere. How could he bear to look at her? How could she bear to look at him? She blinked back tears and started towards the crew's mess, reminding herself that she was supposed to meet Rose at the stern later that evening.

_She must feel terrible. I know I do. And I didn't even say anything. Maybe that's why I feel so low. I can't believe they said that to her. I can't believe I didn't stand up for her. _Murdoch made a motion to catch up with Anne, but then remembered that he was on duty. Besides, Smith had forbade him to speak with her. _At least she's still wearing the shawl I gave her._

He watched her disappear out of his sight, perhaps to the promenade deck. He had planned on maybe "getting some tea," but just then, a desperate cry for help was faintly heard. He turned to face the stern, where he thought the sound had come from. But he couldn't see that far down the length of the ship, and he was certain someone else would be there to handle the situation, whatever it was. He knew it wasn't Anne; she couldn't have gotten that far down the length of the ship yet.

Anne strode into the crew's mess with misery across her petite face. Fortunately, Moody was sitting there with Lightoller. Both men glanced up when she entered. Lightoller appeared somewhat surprised to see her there, but Moody appeared somewhat surprised that she'd waited so long.

"I need to talk to you," Anne told Moody in a firm tone.

"Tea?" Moody asked, and Anne nodded. "Lightoller knows more than I do." He went into the kitchen, leaving Anne with Lightoller.

"I'm Second Officer Charles Lightoller. You must be Miss Stewart," Lightoller rose from his chair to shake Anne's hand. "It's a pleasure to meet you."

"You may regret those words," Anne feebly smiled. She sat down in the chair Lightoller offered her. "I'm sure you heard about this morning's events?"

"Name an officer that hasn't," Lightoller replied, and Anne groaned.

"This is all my fault. He won't lose his job, will he?" Anne asked hopefully.

"I doubt it. Smith is a good man. But I can guarantee that Will's reputation won't be the same," Lightoller shook his head as Moody reentered with a cup of tea. He decided not to mention the fact that it wasn't uncommon for an officer to have one or two or more lady friends . . . but in the port cities, not on the actual ship.

"Thank you," Anne nodded. She took a sip of the tea, surprised that Moody had prepared it the way she preferred it. "How did you know? And aren't you on watch?"

"I saw Will do it enough times," Moody grinned. "I'm taking a break. Murdoch can hold down the fort for a bit."

"Well, I'm afraid he won't be making tea for me any longer," Anne sighed, running her finger along the design on the saucer. "Well, you were there. You know what happened. And it's all my fault."

"Stop blaming yourself," Lightoller gently told her. "From what I heard, Will was the one who started it."

"He also ended it," Anne pointed out. "Heavens, this sounds like we're describing a fight. Anyway, you're positively certain that Mr. Murdoch will not lose his job because of this?"

"Positive," Lightoller nodded. Unfortunately, he wasn't "positive." However, the smile that lit up Anne's face was worth the half-truth.

"Thank you," Anne nodded, drinking the last of her tea. "I'd better be off. Good night."

The men bid her good night. With that, she rose from her chair and left the crew's mess. She had to meet Rose at the stern.

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A/N: I'm going to try to post a few tonight, to make up for the long period of not updating! Thanks muchly for the reviews, too everyone. They really make my day! 


	8. Chapter 8

Disclaimer: Don't own. Don't sue. _Gracias._

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"Cal! Cal, it was an accident," Rose was wrapped in a blanket, trying to get her fiance's attention.

_What was an accident?_ Anne slowly made her way towards the group but stopped a few yards off. Her eyes widened slowly. The Master at Arms was there. So were some sailors, and a man Anne recognized as Colonel Gracie. Rose and Hockley were there, and so was Hockley's manservant, whose name she did not know. There was also a rather attractive young man present. He appeared to be of third-class, and the Master at Arms was handcuffing him. Anne quickly put two and two together and realized that the others had jumped to conclusions. Rose looked slightly shaken, but anger flashed in her eyes more than anything else. Obviously, Hockley wouldn't hear of it. And Rose never lied . . . well, almost never.

"Rose?" Anne stepped forward, and it seemed that everyone noticed her for the first time.

"Run along, Elizabeth. We don't need you here," Hockley airily said.

"Rose is my sister, Mr. Hockley. And she seems a bit distraught. As her older sister, it's my duty to make sure she's safe," Anne defended herself, her pride slightly wounded by the way the other man treated her.

"If I'm not mistaken, you're her _stepsister_, related only by law," Hockley smirked triumphantly. "And Rose is with me. She's safe enough." With that, he turned away from Anne, completely missing the surprised expression on Colonel Gracie's face as he learned that Anne was related to Rose, after the way she'd been treated at dinner.

"One hour," Rose whispered to Anne as she passed her. She did not glance back to see if the other had heard her, but hoped desperately that she had. With that, the others, save Jack and the manservant, disappeared into the ship.

Anne left the two men to walk a ways off, but not to completely disappear. She wanted to be at the stern in an hour.

"Anne?" Rose quietly walked up behind her stepsister. She waited for her to turn around and recognize her. "I'm sorry about this evening. Cal can be so . . . so. . . ."

"I know what you mean. I understand completely; there's no need to apologize," Anne politely smiled. _After years of living with girls who are just the same, one grows accustomed to the constant criticism and sarcasm._ "Who was that handsome young man the Master at Arms was about to lock away? He couldn't take his eyes off you."

"Well," Rose took a deep breath. "Let's take a walk. I'll explain along the way."

And so, the two women began walking the length of the ship. Rose told her stepsister everything that had happened that evening, from stabbing her arm with her salad fork at dinner to trashing her room afterwards to finally running to the stern . . . where she had intended to commit suicide.

"But, he saved me. Jack Dawson. He pulled me back, and oh! Anne, he's so. . . ." Rose shook her head. "I sound ridiculous, don't I?"

"The only ridiculous part of your story is trying to throw yourself from the ship," Anne replied. "Suicide? Rose, there's always another way. You must promise me that you'll come to me before you're hanging over the back of a ship sometime, all right?"

"All right," Rose smiled, and the two shared a knowing smile. "Cal's invited Mr. Dawson to dinner tomorrow evening, though. That should be an event. All evening, he's just going to torment him. I can see it now."

"Well, if Mr. Dawson can persuade a stubborn woman like you to climb back over the railing, I'm sure he can handle an evening at dinner," Anne's smile quickly faded as she recalled the previous dinner she'd shared with them hours earlier. "Well, maybe."

"I hope so," Rose sighed. "So. What will you do once you finish working for the Lewises?"

"Well, I had hoped to settle down. But, now I see that all of that is just a foolish dream. I don't have the means to settle down, nor to travel," Anne sadly smiled. "I suppose I'll continue as a tutor for the rest of my life."

"I'd rather be a tutor than Cal's wife," Rose whispered.

"Well, in that case, so would I," Anne laughed.

It was two in the morning, and Anne sat on a deck chair. She laid on her side, her legs curled up beneath her and one hand beneath her head. She had covered herself with her shawl. Tears freely escaped; no one was around to witness them. She had returned to her stateroom after her conversation with Rose, but sleep eluded her. So, Anne had grabbed Jane Eyre and read from that for a bit. However, she soon grew restless, and so took a walk around the ship. She had only gotten lost once, and that was only because she hadn't been paying attention.

"Miss Stewart?" she quickly wiped her tears away and sat up.

"Mr. Murdoch!" she exclaimed, and quickly glanced both ways up and down the deck for anyone else, but no one was around. "What are you doing here?"

"I've been looking for you," Murdoch replied, sitting down on the deck chair beside hers.

"I know," a small smile crossed Anne's face. "Mr. Barnes."

"He told me he hadn't seen you," Murdoch said.

"I made him promise not to tell you," Anne replied.

"Now I'll have to find someone else. Barnes can't be trusted," Murdoch teased.

"Well, I highly doubt he'd care. From what I heard, you sent him around the ship," Anne said. Her face became grave and serious. "Mr. Murdoch, I spoke with Mr. Moody and Mr. Lightoller earlier today. I don't want you to lose your job, and I don't want your reputation to be ruined any more than it is now. It could hinder you from being Chief Officer, and I know that's what you want."

"We're simply talking, Miss Stewart. I don't think there's a rule against that," Murdoch pointedly whispered. "I wanted to apologize for dinner."

"Oh, there's no need. I'm used to it," Anne smiled sarcastically. "I would have been rather surprised if they had been at all kind to me. You said nothing to belittle me."

"Nay, but I said nothing to defend you, either," Murdoch shook his head.

"But if you did, they would hate _you _just as much as they hate _me_," Anne said. "And with women like Rose DeWitt Bukater, finding people to hate is a daily hobby which is passionately pursued."

Murdoch said nothing. An image of Anne sitting at the dinner table among the others came to mind. He watched her drop her eyes to her plate. And he noticed her throat turn red. He had learned that her throat blushed instead of her cheeks. When she looked up again, her eyes seemed moist, as though she was ready to cry. The image had nearly broken his heart. And he had done nothing to alleviate her pain and suffering. He had sat there silently.

Anne stared at the deck. Her eyes occasionally flitted to Murdoch, but he seemed deep in thought. She wrapped the shawl more tightly around her.

"Are you cold?" Murdoch asked, frowning slightly in concern. Even though Anne shook her head, he unbuttoned his greatcoat and draped it around her. "Better?"

"Yes, thank you," Anne whispered. She finally looked up at him with tear-filled eyes. She shook her head. "I-I don't want to go to Pennsylvania. I'm scared. I'm scared of them, scared of what will happen, scared of what won't. I don't want to die having lived a meaningless life."

"Your life will never be meaningless," Murdoch gently told her, cupping her face with his hands. He wiped her tears away with his thumbs. "It's all right to be frightened. But I know you'll do fine. You're a strong lass."

"You can say that when I've cried in front of you twice? Or have I miscounted?" Anne asked. She rubbed at her locket, but stopped when Murdoch reached up to lay a hand on top of hers.

"There's no need to worry," Murdoch faintly smiled. He rose from his chair. "Walk with me?"

"I suppose," Anne said as he pulled her to her feet. "Perhaps you'll end up a steward on the voyage back to England, and I'll die a single tutor at the age of one hundred or something."

"That would be interesting," Murdoch mused aloud. "This reminds me of _Romeo and Juliet_."

"Although, I'd rather we not commit suicide, if it's all the same to you," Anne added.

"Fair enough," Murdoch softly laughed, linking his fingers with Anne's. "Your hands are cold."

"Well, this isn't exactly the Mediterranean we're crossing," Anne quipped. "But we'd better get some sleep. I won't feel quite as comfortable entrusting my fate with a drowsy First Officer."

"I suppose you're right," Murdoch sighed.

"Of course I am," Anne laughed.

"My, I think the early hours bring out your wit," Murdoch grinned.

"No, it's just that you're slower in the early hours, so I seem sarcastic," Anne laughed again. "All right, I'll stop."

"Good," Murdoch teased as he escorted her down to her stateroom.

"I suppose I'll see you tomorrow, then. That is, if Captain Smith doesn't flay you alive and ban me from ever setting foot on a White Star Line ship again," Anne smiled from the doorway of her stateroom.

"I suppose," Murdoch raised a hand to caress Anne's cheek. "But Smith is retiring after this voyage."

"G'night," Anne smiled. However, she did not close the door, and she and Murdoch held gazes for a moment longer. "All right. Really, it's quarter till three. I'll see you tomorrow."

"All right," Murdoch laughed with a nod. "Good night, Miss Stewart."

"Good night, Mr. Murdoch," Anne closed the door. _Maybe this will work, after all._

* * *

A/N: Hm. Nothing to say this time!


	9. Chapter 9

Disclaimer: Well, I can think of nothing sarcastic or witty to say, so I guess it's just the usual bit about me only owning Anne and such.

* * *

"Good morning, Anne," Megan entered the stateroom with a cheerful smile. Anne had asked her to address her by her first name. Or rather, her middle name.

"Good morning, Megan," Anne smiled, though it was a bit forced. She had slept for no more than four hours all night.

"Late evening?" Megan asked, looking for a dress for Anne.

"Mmhmm," Anne groggily rubbed the sleep from her eyes.

"I take it you're friends with Mr. Murdoch again?" Megan asked, her back to Anne and her voice muffled.

"Do you really need to ask?" Anne genuinely laughed, rising from the bed.

"No," Megan grinned. She held up a long-sleeved pink gown with a thick white sash around the waist. "Will this do?"

"Perfectly," Anne replied.

Soon after, Anne left her stateroom. She went to the library for a few hours, where she finally finished reading Jane Eyre. _If only my life could end like Jane's did. I suppose we already share the beginning._ Afterwards, she lunched in the Palm Court with Rose, who couldn't stop talking about Mr. Dawson. Or, as she now called him, "Jack."

"You should meet him. Will you come to dinner this evening?" Rose asked.

"No," Anne replied with a shake of her head. "Absolutely not. I suppose Jack would take some of the pressure away, but still."

"All right," Rose sighed. "I understand. Perhaps I'll come find you after dinner. Really, I must introduce you to him."

"He sounds pleasant enough," Anne took a sip of her tea.

"Well, I suppose it depends on your definition of 'pleasant,'" Rose laughed. "Mother looked ready to tear him to bits when she heard about him!"

"Yes, well, she always looks like that," Anne tersely added, then immediately apologized. "I never did learn how to hold my tongue."

"Well, if you did, you'd be like the others," Rose smiled. "Don't worry about it. After what they said to you last night . . . well!"

"Speaking of Mr. Dawson, where is he?" Anne looks around. "I assumed you would be with him."

"Well, I'm going to meet him later today to talk with him. He'll be coming to dinner later. Oh, I already said that. Anyway, I'd better be going. I don't want him to think I've forgotten about him. I'll see you later, then," Rose smiled. She gave her stepsister's hand a reassuring squeeze, then rose from the table.

Anne remained at the table. She stared blankly at the wall opposite her. _I love him. Well, perhaps "love" is too strong of a word, but I really do . . . enjoy his company. He's the kind of man that I would have liked to have courted, that I would have liked to have danced with. He's the kind of man that I'd like to court and dance with _now_. What am I thinking! Anne, you've gone too far. He's an officer. You're a tutor. Your classes are not meant to mix. Just as Rose and Jack are not meant to be together and mix. Nothing good will come from either relationship. You should probably just stop it right now before it goes too far. . . . But it already has. You're wearing the shawl he bought for you, aren't you? The one he purchased with his own money? You're only setting yourself up for heartbreak when we arrive in New York. This is bad, Anne. Bad, bad, bad._ Slowly, she rose from the table and left the restaurant.

The rest of the morning and afternoon passed rather slowly for Anne, who found herself with nothing to do. She wandered around the ship and became increasingly familiar with her surroundings. She saw Rose and Jack from a distance, but did not bother to approach them. Finally, the time came for dinner, and Anne returned to her stateroom. She would not endure dinner with them, and she could not dine with the crew any longer. And so, Anne spent 6:00 to 7:30 Saturday evening confined to her room.

Afterwards, she went in search of Rose. Anne found her with Jack at the top landing of the Grand Staircase, near the clock surrounded by Honor and Glory Crowning Time. Rose immediately saw her, and waved her over to them.

"Elizabeth, I mean Anne, this is Jack Dawson, the man who saved my life. Jack, this is my stepsister, Anne Stewart," Rose smiled proudly.

"It's a pleasure to meet you." Jack lightly kissed the backs of Anne's fingers, which made Rose giggle.

"The pleasure is mine," Anne smiled.

"Now, I was going to take Rose down to a party. Care to join us?" Jack asked.

"Oh, I don't know. I don't want to impose, and—" Anne shook her head.

"You're not imposing," Jack grinned and took Anne's hand before she could protest. "Come on."

A few minutes later, Anne found herself in the third-class general room. There was a raised platform in the center, and several tables were scattered throughout. The atmosphere was a bit hazy and smoky, and Celtic music played above the continual din of talk. The entire room smelled of beer, sweat, and smoke. As Jack led Rose through the crowds, Anne hesitantly followed. She couldn't understand half of the languages she heard, but of course so many were shouted that she probably heard English more than she thought, but couldn't understand it among the others. Anne felt rather out of place. She didn't quite belong with first-class, but neither did she belong with third. Rose, however, seemed to fit right in with everyone else. Anne searched the room for someone she might know, but soon gave up. This was third-class. She hardly knew anyone in first-class, let alone third.

"Anne!" Rose grinned and waved her stepsister over. She smacked her hand across the table, motioning to a chair across from her. "Come on!"

"What?" Anne teased, yelling loudly. Above the bagpipes, Irish flutes, spoons, singing, dancing, and talking, their small voices were drowned out. She smiled.

The two women watched Jack dance with a beautiful young girl with dark hair and big, brown eyes. Her father sat at the table beside them, and introduced himself as Bert Cartmell of Manchester.

"That's my daughter Cora. She's five," Mr. Cartmell proudly beamed.

"She's beautiful," Anne smiled as she and Rose clapped to the music.

Not long after, the song ended. Jack pulled Rose unwillingly to her feet to dance, but promised Cora that she'd always be his best girl. That brightened the young girl's hopes, and Anne couldn't help but smile. Then, she watched her stepsister and Jack awkwardly dance to a song they didn't know. She laughed. _Of course, I don't know the dance, either._

"Care to dance?" Anne turned around at the sound of the voice.

"Mr. Murdoch!" Anne's eyes widened.

"Come on," Murdoch offered Anne his hand. Not in full uniform, he wore a white shirt and dark pants, with his usual perfectly shined shoes.

"I-I can't," Anne vehemently shook her head. "I don't know the dance!"

"I do," Murdoch pulled her to her feet. "I'll teach you."

Anne glanced nervously up at Murdoch. However, the man seemed completely knowledgeable about what he was doing, and so Anne trustingly put one hand on his shoulder as he took the other with his. He nodded to her, as though asking permission to start. She exhaled with a rush of air, then nodded in return.

An instant later, Murdoch was twirling Anne around the room. "Loosen up!" he grinned. He felt her muscles relax a little against him when he pulled her close, and smiled. _She's a fast learner._ He had to show her the steps but once, and soon they were dancing around the room.

Anne glanced up at Murdoch. Her entire face seemed aglow with happiness. The rest of the room seemed to fade away, until she was alone with Murdoch in the room, dancing happily. _He's a good dancer._

The song ended, and they both found themselves wishing that it hadn't. However, Murdoch noted that Anne seemed a bit tired, no doubt from her lack of sleep the previous night, and the two found an empty table to sit down at.

"I've never danced like that before," Anne admitted as she envisioned the opulent balls at Barclay, where more gossiping than dancing had taken place.

"Well, you're quite good at it," Murdoch smiled.

"Thank you," Anne blushed slightly. "So, you're down here dancing when you should be resting. Why did you come down here?"

"A fiery young red-head sought me out today. She said I should try to find a certain shy first-class passenger. Then the man who saved her approached me a bit later and told me where they'd all be," Murdoch smiled as he leaned closer to be heard above the crowd. "So, here I am."

Anne moved her chair around the table closer to Murdoch, who did the same. Soon, they were sitting side by side. If anyone had peered under the table, they would have seen that the two were holding hands. Above the table, they simply appeared to be happily enjoying one another's company.

"Hi!" Jack grinned and sat down with Rose across from them. He reached across the table to shake Murdoch's hand. "Jack Dawson."

"Nice to meet you. Will Murdoch," Murdoch smiled with a nod of his head.

"Mr. Murdoch, this is my stepsister, Rose DeWitt Bukater," Anne motioned to her stepsister. "Rose, this is First Officer Murdoch."

"Call me Will," Murdoch shouted above the noise.

"Pleased to meet you!" Rose laughed. Then, she turned to Anne. "I thought you didn't have any suitors!"

Anne's mouth dropped open wide. Rose had to speak loudly to be heard above the noise, but Anne was certain the officers on the Bridge could have heard Rose's last statement. Rose was clearly pleased with herself. "Well. . . ."

Rose started to laugh, however, and the comment was forgotten. The four leaned in close over the table to hear one another better, and talked off and on throughout the evening when they weren't dancing.

Anne and Murdoch danced several times that evening. However, the crew finally turned out the lights in the public rooms, and the party dispersed. Anne and Murdoch waved good-bye to Rose and Jack, who disappeared elsewhere a moment later.

"You look tired," Anne observed as they walked down a passage.

"A little," Murdoch replied, still holding Anne's hand.

"Well, let's go to bed then. We still have three more days before we dock in New York," Anne reminded him.

"Yes, but I have to spend a great deal of them on the Bridge," Murdoch replied.

"Still. I'd rather know that you can spot an iceberg before we hit it rather than deem it some figment of your imagination due to lack of sleep," Anne somewhat pleadingly said, as they continued up stairs and down corridors. She wasn't quite certain where they were going; they had passed the officers' quarters a while ago. She stopped. "You would tell me if there were icebergs, wouldn't you?"

"Of course," Murdoch said, after a moment's hesitation.

Anne nodded. _No, he wouldn't. But, can I really blame him for not? I don't think I would want to tell someone our fate is a bit precarious._ She faintly smiled. "Good."

"I'd better get some sleep," Murdoch quietly said in the silence that followed. He glanced at his pocket watch. "Actually, I'm supposed to be on the Bridge right now!"

"Yes, I should go, too. Good night," Anne whispered. She half wanted him to kiss her good night as she'd seen happen at parties and balls. The handsome suitor gave his girl a slight peck on the cheek. However, in some cases, it was more than just a "peck." But she closed the door and went to bed.


	10. Chapter 10

Disclaimer: I do not own the movie characters, or the historical ones not mentioned in the movie. Some of the script is included. Anne is mine. And some of the characters soon to appear are mine. Mine, my own. My precioussss! Um. I need sleep.

* * *

"Eternal Father strong to save." Anne stood at the back of the room at the divine service Sunday morning at 11:00 a.m. "Whose arm doth bind the restless wave." She looked around the dining saloon. "Who bids the mighty ocean deep." Her eyes rested on the back of Rose's head, between Hockley's and Ruth's. "Its own appointed limits keep." She turned her gaze to Smith, who led the service. "Oh, hear us when we cry to Thee, for those in peril on the sea."

After the service, Anne took a walk around the decks. Mr. Andrews led a small tour around the ship, which included Hockley, Ruth, Rose, and Anne. Anne had only agreed to go after Rose pleaded with her. Rose needed "someone to keep me sane!"

"Reminds me of my Harvard days," Hockley commented as he worked the oars of one of the stationary rowing machines in the gymnasium.

Anne suppressed the urge to comment about him attending Harvard. She instead occupied herself with watching Mr. McCauley, the gym instructor, flip the switch on an electric horse.

"Care to try your hand at rowing, Ma'am?" Mr. McCauley asked Ruth, gesturing to the machine.

"Don't be absurd," Ruth scoffed. "I can't think of a skill I should likely need less."

Anne lightly rolled her eyes as Mr. Andrews led them to the Bridge. She smiled upon seeing Murdoch, who nodded ever so slightly in greeting. Just then, a rather young man brushed past the group and handed a piece of paper to Smith.

"Another ice warning, Sir. This one's from _Amerika_," the man said.

"Thank you, Sparks," Smith glanced at the message, then shoved it into his pocket. He seemed to notice the slightly worried expressions on Rose's and Anne's faces. "Not to worry, it's quite normal for this time of year. In fact, we're speeding up. I've just ordered the last boilers lit."

"That's the second ice warning today," Mr. Andrews muttered under his breath. He shook his head. _More speed? And ice warnings?_

Anne's eyes quickly swept the Bridge to rest on Murdoch. She could tell he had heard Andrews' comment. _You didn't tell me. Of course, we haven't exactly seen each other. _She moved towards the door with the rest of her group. As the last to leave, she saw Lightoller exit the chartroom and enter the main Bridge house.

"Will, have we found the binoculars for the lookouts?" Lightoller asked Murdoch.

"Haven't seen them since Southampton," came the reply.

Anne fought the urge to glance back. So. Not only were they speeding up in the midst of ice, but also the lookouts had no binoculars. How were they to spot ice?

Mr. Andrews was discussing the lifeboat capacity with Rose when Anne noticed a young gentleman standing between two of the boats. However, as they passed, she quickly realized that the man was no wealthy socialite, but rather Jack Dawson. She pretended not to see him, lest she draw attention to him, and tugged lightly on Rose's sleeve. However, Jack captured her attention and pulled her away. To make Rose's disappearance less suspicious, Anne slowly lagged farther and farther behind, until she was away from the group, as well. No one else had noticed the departure of either woman.

She walked around the boat deck, where she finally saw Murdoch. He asked if she'd wait until two, which was when his watch ended. She agreed, and continued to walk around the deck. When his watch finished, Murdoch fell into step alongside her, and they both quietly walked around the boat deck, staying close to the Bridge.

"How visible are icebergs at night?" Anne suddenly asked.

"It depends. There's usually a ring of foam at the base, where the waves crash against it. And you can smell icebergs before you can see them, because of the minerals they give off. But on days like today," Murdoch nodded toward the calm, clear ocean. "It will be difficult. There will be no breaking waves. But, we can still smell them."

Anne nodded. She knew Murdoch could tell she wasn't assured at all, but she didn't care. She was frightened half to death, and there was an odd feeling in the pit of her stomach. Something wasn't right.

"_Caronia _reported icebergs, field ice, and growlers at 42 degrees North, from 49 degrees to 51 degrees West," Murdoch finally admitted. "That was at 9:00 a.m. today. At 11:40 a.m., _Noordam _reported 'much ice' roundabout where _Caronia _had. And at 1:42, _Baltic _reported ice about 400 kilometers ahead. Oh. _Amerika _reported two large bergs at 1:45. Don't look at me like that. I promised you I'd get you to New York safely, and I intend on keeping that promise. We might even get there early. We're traveling at 22 knots. That's almost full speed for us."

"Is that so we can hit the bergs with full impact?" Anne quipped. "I have a queer feeling, and I've had it since I woke up. There have been four warnings in less than five hours. And it's only Sunday!"

"Miss Stewart, stop worrying. Everything will be fine," Murdoch gently placed his hands on Anne's forearms. "I promise."

"That's two rather lofty promises. I hope you can keep them," Anne smiled good-naturedly.

"Let's hope," Murdoch replied with a grin, more serious than he let on. _Where are the bloody binoculars?_

The temperature had dropped to a frigid thirty-three degrees Fahrenheit. And yet, Anne was standing at the gunwale on the starboard boat deck. She was wrapped in the shawl Murdoch had given her, the cold air making her drowsy. The moon was hidden by clouds, and she couldn't make the distinction between the ocean and the sky at the horizon. Anne didn't even know why she was outside in such chilly weather; her nose was cold and so were her cheeks and ears. Her hands were freezing.

"You should be asleep," Murdoch whispered in Anne's ear. He saw her on his way to the Bridge, and quietly approached the young woman. "Aren't you cold?"

"Very," Anne smiled. "I have no idea why I'm out here."

"Well, neither do I," Murdoch grinned as the two walked towards the Bridge. "I'm cold, and I've only been out here for a few minutes. I'll be out here 'til two!"

"Sounds wonderful," Anne teased, then yawned. She turned to see Lightoller approaching them.

"Captain Smith has retired for the evening, but you're to alert him if it looks at all doubtful. I've ordered the lookouts to keep sharp observations for bergs and growlers. James predicts we'll hit the ice at 2300 hours, and Hemming told me you had him close a hatch on the forward deck because of the glare, so that should make the bergs easier to spot," Lightoller informed Murdoch. "It's 32 degrees and we're traveling at 22.5 knots. I've had enough of this blasted weather for one evening. Cheerio."

"G'night, Lights," Murdoch called.

"Well, I'll let you get to work. I don't want to hinder you at all, especially with all of these ice warnings. I'll see you tomorrow?" Anne asked as she tried to ignore Lightoller's "we'll hit the ice" phrase.

"Right then," Murdoch nodded and gently squeezed her hand. "'Night."

"Good night," Anne smiled, then returned to her stateroom.

* * *

A/N: in a highly anguished voice Ooooh nooooo! Dun dun dun! Their last moments together in peace! Anywho, I'm beginning to get a bit tired, so pardon any typos. Oh! I really don't want to split up the whole "oh my gosh, the ship is sinking!" scene, so the next chapter will most likely be extreeeemely long. Unless I find a really good place to stop at.


	11. Chapter 11

Disclaimer: See the first disclaimer, because they just keep getting more and more random as I go.

* * *

"We've passed several small chunks of ice, Will. Don't you think we should tell Smith, or at least slow down?" Moody asked.

"No, we're fine," Murdoch replied as he shook his head. He heard Moody retreat back into the main Bridge house. All was quiet.

Murdoch briskly rubbed his hands together. The leather gloves he wore didn't keep them as warm as he would have liked. He considered getting a cup of tea; the evening had been boring, and there seemed to be no cause for alarm. And that was when he saw it.

The warning bell rang three times as Murdoch identified a great, massive iceberg directly in front of the ship. His blood ran cold. The telephone rang inside the enclosed Bridge house, and Murdoch turned to see Moody slowly walking to answer the phone, cup of tea in hand.

"Yes. What do you see? Thank you," Moody tersely but calmly said. He turned to Murdoch as he replaced the receiver, suddenly losing all calmness. "Iceberg right ahead!"

Murdoch ran into Moody in his attempt to reach the ship's telegraph and somewhat violently threw the lever to relay, "Stop! Full speed astern!" to the engine room. At the same time, he yelled "Hard a' starboard!" to Quartermaster Hichens. He heard Moody echo his command from behind Hichens.

"The helm is hard over, Sir," Moody replied.

The berg grew larger and larger before him. "Come on . . . come on . . . turn . . . turn!" Murdoch's knuckles grew white as he grabbed the railing. After what seemed like an eternity, the bow finally began to turn left. He clenched his jaw tightly as a fine saline mist dampened his brow. A drop of sweat ran down his jaw. He held his breath, and it seemed like the rest of the officers and crewmen were doing the same. And then . . . an agonizing crunch as Murdoch felt the deck sway beneath him. The ship groaned as though in tremendous pain. But there was no time to waste.

Murdoch ran to ring the watertight door alarm. He quickly threw the switch to close them, then yelled, "Hard a' port!" _It's amidships. We can clear the stern. Clear the stern. No._

The alarm bells continued to clatter mindlessly. Murdoch stared straight ahead in shock. _I just ran the largest ship in history into an iceberg on its maiden voyage._ He looked at the berg. It was just higher than the boat deck. He turned to Moody somewhat mechanically.

"What was that, Mr. Murdoch?" Smith tucked in his shirt as he ran out of his cabin.

"Note the time. Enter it in the log," Murdoch told Moody, then turned to Smith. "An iceberg, Sir. I put her hard a' starboard and run the engines full astern, but it was too close. I tried to port around it, but she hit . . . and I—"

"Close the emergency doors," Smith commanded.

"They are already closed, Sir," Murdoch replied, in a daze. He followed Smith out to the starboard wing, and Murdoch pointed far down the hull. The iceberg was already gone.

"Find the Carpenter and get him to sound the ship," Smith whirled around to Fourth Officer Boxhall.

Anne's eyes snapped open. Something was wrong. She immediately sat up in the darkness and flipped the light on. Something had woken her. _The engines have stopped._ She looked around her room. A vase of flowers had been sitting precariously close to the edge of the table. Now, it had fallen and smashed on the floor. Wet roses lay limply in a puddle of cold water and broken glass. _Something happened._

She jumped out of bed, forgetting her kimono and slippers. She threw open the door to her stateroom. Already, the corridor was sparsely dotted with bewildered people who had come to see what had happened. A confused chatter began to fill the hallway. Finally, a steward walked past. Someone asked what had happened, and then the chatter changed to people explaining that the ship had thrown a propeller blade. Except, Anne had heard the steward, and he had said that "We've _likely _thrown a propeller blade." Likely. He wasn't positive. _Mr. Murdoch will know._ She began pushing through annoyed people who wondered when they'd get underway again, and whether or not they'd arrive in New York on time.

Murdoch followed Smith and Andrews like a forlorn puppy who'd been abandoned. Still in shock, the reality of it all was still sinking in. He hovered behind Smith and Andrews as they discussed the seriousness of the damage. He stood beside Ismay, who wouldn't stop asking when they'd get underway.

"Water fourteen feet above the keel in ten minutes . . . in the forepeak . . . in all three holds . . . and in boiler room six," Andrews nervously stated.

"That's right," Smith nodded, calmer than he felt.

"Five compartments. She can stay afloat with the first four compartments breached. But not five. Not five. As she goes down by the head the water will spill over the tops of the bulkheads . . . at E Deck . . . from one to the next, back and back. There's no stopping it," Andrews grew pale.

"The pumps—"

"The pumps will buy you time, but minutes only. From this moment on, no matter what we do, Titanic will founder," Andrews shook his head.

"But this ship can't sink!" Mr. Ismay, the director of the White Star Line, incredulously exclaimed.

"She is made of iron, Sir. I assure you, she can. And she will. It is a mathematical certainty," Andrews nodded.

"How much time?" Smith asked, his voice hollow and empty.

"An hour, two at most," Andrews softly replied.

"And how many aboard, Mr. Murdoch?" Smith turned to the First Officer.

"Two thousand two hundred souls aboard, Sir," Murdoch answered. His mind reeled. _There aren't enough lifeboats. _He was responsible for their deaths. _The lifeboats. . . . _They would have to be filled to capacity. Even then, people would die. The mail room was already flooded. _Roughly fifteen hundred. __Two out of three of the passengers and crew. Dead. Dead_.

Anne raced through the corridors determinedly. For the first time, she made it to B-Deck without getting lost even once. She ran to the Bridge, and then stopped. She looked down below. Ice. There was ice scattered all over the deck, and some of the passengers were playing with it. _Ice? Ice. My heavens! Ice!_ She frantically looked around for Murdoch. _Where is he!_

Finally, she spotted him at the Bridge. He was talking to Smith. Or rather, they were both staring off into space. She ran up to both of them.

"What's happened?" Her eyes were wild with fear, even though she tried to hide it. "I felt a shudder. The engines have stopped. There is _ice _on the deck. Tell me."

"My fault . . . it's all my fault," Murdoch slowly led Anne aside. "She hit . . . she hit. You . . . you need to get something warmer on. Get your life belt. Get back up here. I'll put you on the first boat I launch."

"W-What?" Anne blinked and shook her head. "What?"

"Miss Stewart, you need to listen to me. We don't have much time. You need to dress as warmly as possible and get back up here as fast as you can." Murdoch's tone frightened Anne, and he could tell. But he didn't care, as long as she was safe. He had promised. . . . "Now go!"

Anne nodded numbly. She turned away and sprinted back into the first-class entrance. She ran down the cold marble stairs of the Grand Staircase in her bare feet. One corridor, then another. She stopped outside her stateroom. A steward methodically moved down the hall. He woke everyone and asked them to put their life belts on. No, he obnoxiously pounded on doors and _demanded _that everyone put their life belts on. _Rose._

Immediately, Anne tore off in the opposite direction. _B-52? Or was it B-54? Or B-56, even? Or all three? Or none of them?_ She reached the promenade suite rooms. One of the doors was already opened, but a steward, the one that had gone to Anne's room on Murdoch's behalf, was there to ensure that everyone put their life belts on.

"Oh, Anne! I saw the iceberg!" Rose ran to her cousin.

"I know, we haven't much time," Anne quietly but seriously said. She frowned. Rose had a red bruise on her cheek. "What happened?"

"That's none of your business," Hockley snapped as he suddenly grabbed Rose's wrist possessively. "Now go."

"Will you be all right?" Anne asked her stepsister. When Rose nodded, Anne left the room and ran back to her own stateroom. She barely noticed the lavish furnishings in the promenade suite.

The boat deck was noisy. Steam hissed as the crew fumbled with the new Welin davits. Orders were shouted. Boats were uncovered. Smith had already called for assistance over the radio. _Carpathia _had received the message. Cape Race, _Mount Temple_, and _La Provence _had received the foundering ship's distress signal.

"Where are all the passengers?" Andrews yelled to be heard above the clamor.

"They're all inside . . . too cold and noisy!" Wilde yelled in reply. He turned back to the boats as Andrew stumbled away, as though in a nightmare he couldn't escape.

Murdoch prepared Lifeboat No. 7. He called passengers forward – women and children first – to step into the boat. But no one wanted to leave the warm, brightly lit ship for the cold, rickety lifeboat. Reality hit him hard. He scanned the area for Anne. _Where is she? Maybe she's gone for Rose. Of all the times to be kind. . . ._

"Anne!" Megan ran into Anne's stateroom. "Do you have your life belt?"

"Yes, do you?" Anne asked with concern.

"Yes, but will that matter?" Megan forced a laugh. "Come, we have to get you dressed."

Without another word, the two women began searching Anne's wardrobe. Finally, Anne put her green velvet dress on atop her nightgown for warmth. She slid on her shoes while Megan wrapped her lace shawl around her, and Anne made sure her locket was around her neck. She wrapped her father's pocket watch in her handkerchief. Then, she looked around the room.

"There's no time!" Megan exclaimed as she threw Anne her leather gloves. "The others may pretend that this is all a drill, but I'm sure they won't in another hour!"

Anne grabbed her copy of Jane Eyre and shoved it in her pocket, along with her watch. She threw all of her money into her pockets; it was all she had. She then snatched her life belt from her bed, along with her coat.

"Ready?" Megan asked.

"Almost," Anne grabbed another life belt from the room and shoved it into Megan's hands. "You're coming with me."

"I can't," Megan sadly shook her head. "I have to make sure everyone else is out."

"Then I'll stay and help," Anne desperately offered.

"No, you have to go," Megan shook her head. She blinked to quell the tears.

"Will you meet me on the starboard side, where Mr. Murdoch is loading the lifeboats?" Anne asked, and Megan nodded. "I'll wait." With that, she ran from the room and up toward the boat deck.

"Anne!" Murdoch called for the young woman. He paused. It was the first time he'd called her by her first name intentionally. "Anne!"

"Will!" Anne exclaimed. _Since when have we been on a first-name basis?_ "I'm sorry it took me so long. I don't know where Rose and Jack are."

"I saw them on the other side of the ship earlier. They're safe. Come, we have to move quickly," Murdoch took her hand gently.

"Wait," Anne stopped at the edge of the ship. There were already twenty aboard. "When will you be coming? How much later? You'll be on another lifeboat, when they don't need you, won't you?"

"It won't take me long; I'll be along later," Murdoch replied. He knew they'd need him to the end. After all, wasn't that his duty? Wasn't it his fault? His heart was racing. _Come on, Anne. Get into the boat. I need to see you physically in the lifeboat, in the water, away from the ship. I need to know you're safe._ He looked into Anne's eyes; he knew she knew he was lying. "Please, Anne."

"No," Anne shook her head. "I'll wait. There are other lifeboats to be lowered. I'll get in one of the last ones."

"Anne," Murdoch began, but realized that arguing only wasted precious time. Besides, he knew she would have her way. "All right. Step back." He turned to the others. "I need more women and children!"

However, at 12:45 a.m., No. 7 was lowered with only nineteen people aboard. Anne looked at Murdoch somewhat uneasily. _That lifeboat holds sixty-five. Sixty-five._ "Forty-six more people could have been saved."

Murdoch stopped. He glanced over at Anne sadly as a distress rocket exploded brightly and loudly in the air above. She had no idea. . . . He had been the one to run the ship into the iceberg in the first place. And now . . . and now he had sealed the fates of forty-six others. How many more would die? He moved down the ship slowly, as though it pained him. No. He had to move faster. People were depending on him.

Anne regretted the words as soon as they left her mouth. She saw the pain in his eyes. It wasn't his fault. Still, she made a decision to help instead of stand around. She tossed her life belt and coat to the side, where they would be hidden from view. "Please, will you step into the lifeboat?"

The small party of six standing near the boat stared at Anne with contempt. Who was the young woman dressed in what seemed her best, ordering her elders into a lifeboat? No one listened to her.

"Please, you must step into the boat now," Ismay soon appeared beside them. After he urged the group a bit longer, the six boarded lifeboat No. 5. Ismay counted forty-one aboard.

"Good bye and good luck," Murdoch told Third Officer Pitman, who would man the lifeboat. He glanced at his pocket watch. _12:55._ "Lower away! By the left and right together, steady lads!"

As she watched the lifeboat lower away from the ship, she remembered something. "Make sure the plug is in!" she called out. She glanced over the side in time to see Quartermaster Alfred Olliver plug the hole shortly after the boat hit the water.

"It's a good thing I have you here," Murdoch grinned over at Anne, despite the circumstances.

Anne watched the scene play out before her as though she was frozen in time. She watched Murdoch fill lifeboat 3. People were still certain that _Titanic _wasn't going to sink, but Anne was fairly certain that the water was growing closer and closer by the second. _The unsinkable ship . . . is sinking. _She smiled tenderly at a young boy clutching a toy polar bear. He boarded with his mother, his maid, and his mother's maid. Shortly thereafter, Murdoch allowed the boy's father to enter the lifeboat, as well, as it was not full. He lowered it with 32 people, less than half of its full capacity. She watched as Murdoch walked farther down the ship. He called for more people.

Murdoch glanced back at Anne. She looked lost. Afraid. Small. She looked ready to break down sobbing, and he prayed that she wouldn't. Though he wanted to just run over to her and pull her into his embrace, he couldn't comfort her and try to launch the lifeboats at the same time. Time was running out. He turned back and tried to hide the weariness in his eyes. He put on a brave face and began filling the lifeboat with tireless effort. But his effort only filled the starboard emergency cutter with twelve people. The boat could hold forty. But he wanted to save those he could. He wasn't certain of the weight, and he could not wait forever to fill the lifeboats to their full capacities. He looked into each person's eyes as he helped them board. _Sir Cosmo and Lady Lucille Duff-Gordon. Their secretary, Miss Laura Francatelli. Two American men I've never seen before._

The nameplate on the bow was underwater. They didn't have much time. Anne ran away from the boat deck. Murdoch still had four boats to launch, not including the two Englehardt collapsible boats. She could find Rose in time. . . . And if she didn't find Rose, she could look for Megan. And if she couldn't find either, and Murdoch had launched all of his boats, well. . . . Anne tried not to think about that possibility.

She ran to her hidden coat and life belt, and then to the port side of the ship. Rose was nowhere to be seen. _She must have gotten off. She must be in a lifeboat._ But then she knew Rose hadn't disembarked the ship. There. There was Hockley. Holding Rose against her will. Anne looked out over the edge of the ship. The lifeboat with Ruth in it was slowly fading into the darkness. She turned back in time to see Rose spit in Hockley's face, before disappearing into the crowd. _Where's Jack?_ Anne began to run in the direction she'd seen Rose run, careful to avoid Hockley.

Anne ran past a young couple kissing passionately. The young woman was crying hysterically, and her husband was feigning optimism. Anne's heart hurt at the sight. She quickly tapped the young woman's shoulder. "Come with me. There are boats on the other side letting men on."

"Thank you!" the young woman exclaimed, grabbing her husband's hand. She appeared to be younger than Anne.

Anne quickly led the two back to the starboard side through the Bridge. Just as she arrived, Murdoch was lowering No. 9, which was filled with 56 of 65. It seemed as though people were finally realizing that the ship was indeed sinking. Anne wasn't certain that she quite realized it yet, though. Suddenly, the women started to scream as the boat lurched sharply to the left. It threatened to spill its contents, and Murdoch quickly called the lowering to a halt.

"Steady on the left! Right side only! Right side only, now!" Murdoch called out, his breath making a small cloud of steam in front of his face. He leaned over the edge of the deck, making sure the boat was lowered steadily. "Both sides together now!"

"He'll put you on the next boat," Anne reassured the couple. True to her word, Anne saw the couple placed in lifeboat No. 11. She smiled weakly. They were getting off safely. They were getting off with those they loved. Anne looked over to Murdoch. He was busy filling the lifeboat up with more people. It seemed, to her, that the boat had been filled over capacity, and she prayed that it would hold.

"Oh, please let me go with my children!" Anne turned to see a woman jump in 11 to be with a young boy and girl as it was being lowered. The woman turned back and looked up at the deck again. "Ruth! Get in another boat!"

"Anne!" Murdoch's gaze rested on her lone form. She stood against the wall of one of the buildings, her life belt in one hand and coat in the other. She seemed so forlorn. So afraid. And yet . . . so brave. "I forgot . . . I thought I'd gotten you off already. I'm so sorry!"

"There are still other boats. Keep loading them. I can wait," Anne nodded. "There are still two others, and A and C."

"But I need to know you're going to be safe," Murdoch said.

"You will. I promise," Anne said. She remembered the promises Murdoch had made earlier that week. _He's only seeing them through._ His words echoed in her mind. _I will get you to New York safe and sound. _She turned away to bring others to the lifeboats.

Murdoch stared after her. _Well, she's a fighter. But if this ship sinks and she's not in a lifeboat. . . ._ He resisted the urge to run after her, grab her, and toss her into the nearest lifeboat, like he had young Ruth, who hadn't gotten into 11 in time.

"Megan!" Anne briefly smiled upon seeing the maid run towards her. "You made it!"

"I shouldn't go, though. So many people. . . ." Megan shook her head.

"Megan, your parents would want to see you alive. They would want you to live," Anne nodded. "Please, please say you'll come."

"I. . . ." Megan's eyes turned back to the other people and the brightly lit interior.

"Come on," Anne grabbed the young woman's wrist before she could protest.

Lifeboat 13 had just been lowered when Anne and Megan reached the next boat to be launched. Anne felt her muscles tense. Mr. Hockley had approached Murdoch about something, and Anne walked closer so she could hear. All she could hear was, "So we have an understanding, then?" However, she _did _happen to see Hockley shove a huge wad of bills into the waist pocket of Murdoch's greatcoat. She gasped in surprise and waited for Hockley to leave. "You're not going to accept that, are you?"

"Anne," Murdoch began, but stopped. She was right. How could he accept the money? Besides, Hockley had shoved it into his pocket; he hadn't asked for it. "No. You have to get in this next boat, all right? It's my last one."

"No, it isn't," Anne shook her head. "A is your last one, and it's on the roof of the officers' quarters."

"Anne," Murdoch said, frustrated. _Why _did she have to know everything? "You're getting in this boat. I don't know how difficult it will be to get A from the roof. I don't know if it will be rushed by desperate people. But, I want _you _on this boat."

Anne stared at him. He was speaking at her so seriously, so sternly, that it surprised her. She looked into his eyes. They were tired. They were tired and angry and frustrated and sad. But they were brave and determined. Anne tried to match his level of braveness, but she couldn't. She was frightened beyond belief, and she didn't want it to show. But it did. And she had to look away.

Murdoch placed two fingers beneath Anne's chin. He slowly raised her head so she looked him in the eye. Tears were welling in emerald pools that reflected the light of the ship. He could see the reflection of the distress rockets in her eyes. He felt his heart break. He didn't want to leave her. But he had to. He wanted her to survive, at least.

Anne watched him finish loading one of the Englehardt boats. Somewhere on the port side, someone fired three shots. Lifeboat 13 was almost crushed by 15 as they descended too closely together. But Anne hardly noticed. She stared ahead numbly. She watched Murdoch help people into the lifeboat. When it was filled, there were forty people. Then, he turned to her. She felt a stinging sensation in her throat and at the back of her eyes. _Don't cry. Don't cry._ They didn't stand but a foot apart, but they closed the distance in an instant when she ran into his arms. "I don't want to leave you. I don't want to go. Please, please don't make me go." She clutched him tighter. She smelled his aftershave and tried to memorize the scent. She tried to memorize the strength she felt when he held her, tried to somehow take it for her own.

"I don't want to leave you, either. But I have a duty. And I promised I'd get you to New York. Now, you will," Murdoch forced a smile.

"I just hoped that we'd arrive together," Anne whispered.

"We will. We'll always be together," Will nodded. He pulled away briefly, pulling his pocket watch from his coat. "Here. I want you to have this. And I want you to have this, too." He pulled a single gold band from his finger. "It once belonged to my great-great grandfather. It's a tradition to hand it down to the men of the family for marriage and all that romantic nonsense, but I don't think I'll be able to give it to anyone."

"No, you're going to give it to your son someday," Anne shook her head, pushing the wedding ring back to him.

"I want you to give it to yours," Murdoch whispered into her ear as he slipped the ring into her hand, closing her fingers around the metal, warm from wear. "Now, you'd better get in before the ship sinks completely."

Anne nodded stiffly. She slipped the pocket watch into her pocket, along with the ring he'd given her and the other possessions she'd shoved there. She blinked her tears away, but couldn't keep a few salt drops from escaping.

Murdoch gently took her life belt and coat from her hands. She complied without a protest. He slowly helped her into the coat and buttoned it numbly. Then, he gingerly slipped her life belt over her head and tied it for her. He raised a hand to caress her cheek and felt the cool tears against his hand. He hesitated for a moment, and she looked up into his eyes. Without a second thought, he leaned down as she leaned up. Their lips briefly touched in a kiss, and then he helped her into the lifeboat.

Anne sat down in the lifeboat beside Megan, among several other third-class women and children. She hardly noticed that Mr. Ismay had stolen into the boat and sat across from her. All she could do was stare at Murdoch. She knew she'd never see him again, at least not alive. Her heart seemed to rip into shreds. Tears coursed freely so that they blurred her vision, but she could not take her eyes from him. He had _kissed _her. It was her first kiss. It had been brief, chaste. Innocent. She raised a shaking hand to touch her lips. _So that's what a kiss is like. My first . . . our last. Why isn't he lowering the boat? _Slowly, she let her hand fall back into her lap as she heard Murdoch order the lifeboat to be lowered. Then she realized why. It was because of Ismay. But she didn't care. She locked gazes with Murdoch. _Safe, Anne. You have to stay safe. Stay in the boat. Go to New York. Stay in the boat. _Their eyes never left each other the entire way to the ocean. Anne was vaguely aware that the canvas sides of the collapsible boat were scraping against the rivets in the side of the ship, but she didn't bother to help push it away. A few others were doing so. And then . . . she was helping another woman and a few other men row the lifeboat away from the sinking ship, away from Murdoch, away from the other doomed passengers.

"We're going to pull through this," Megan whispered reassuringly. "It'll be all right, Anne."

"There are only three more boats," Anne whispered. She stared at the dying ship. The creaks and groans were its death rattle. The people were screaming, running, jumping, falling.

"Come alongside!" Smith yelled through his megaphone. _Fools! There are women and children aboard. And plenty of room!_ "Come alongside!"

"We . . . we have to go back," Anne hoarsely managed. "We have to go back and pick up others."

"This boat only holds 47," a crewman said. "We already have 42."

"Well, we can save five," Megan piped up. She shivered against the cold.

"They'll swamp us. And then no one will survive!" the crewman exclaimed. "We're staying where we are. Actually, we should row farther away. There will be a suction when the ship sinks, and it'll pull us under."

Anne was numb. She couldn't feel her body, yet she continued to row. She wasn't certain if she was numb because of the cold, or if there was another underlying cause. She looked back to the ship. The rudder was slowly rising out of the water. The ship was still brightly lit. It looked so cheery, except for the fact that the bow was diving deeper into the water. The water swirled up around the metal railings and onto the decks, and people ran towards the stern. She tried to find Murdoch among the others, but couldn't. They were rowing too far away. All she could see were frantic shapes screaming in the darkness. A mother was crooning to her young child somewhere in the boat in a language Anne didn't understand. She looked up at the sky. Stars, too many to count, sprinkled the vast expanse of the sky in a serene peace out of place above the grave of so many.


	12. Chapter 12

Disclaimer: insert first disclaimer

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Murdoch glanced at his watch after he had lowered C. _2:00. I should have just been ending my watch. Anne and I should have been taking a walk around the ship. Or talking. Or just enjoying each other's company. I guess that won't happen ever again, though. _He ran to the top of the officers' quarters to push Collapsible A off the roof. _Dear God. . . . Please get Anne to New York safely. Please guide her through life. Help her to forget me. Please let Mother, Father, Anne, and Peg know that I love them dearly. _He and a few other men began pushing the lifeboat down a ramp made of oars. Their plan worked less than successfully; the weight of the boat crushed the oars. Men suddenly rushed at the boat, and Murdoch remembered the Webleys the officers had been given earlier during the sinking in the Chief Officer's office. He brandished the weapon to keep the desperate passengers at bay.

Suddenly, the ship took a dive into the frigid water. The lights flickered out for ever. The guy wires snapped like whips, and the forward funnel snapped and fell into the sea amidst a cloud of sparks and soot. The passengers in the lifeboats watched in horror as it crushed dozens of swimmers in the water. The stern was suddenly fully out of the water. However, the stress seemed too great for the ship to support, and as if in slow motion, the ship snapped in two between the third and fourth funnels.

"Oh!" Megan exclaimed. There were no words to describe what she was seeing. She watched as the stern slowly but powerfully fell into the water again with a loud splash and a huge wave.

Anne watched the stern begin to rise again. _What is happening? _She suddenly realized that the bow of the ship was still attached to the stern along the bottom of the keel. As gravity pulled the bow to the bottom of the ocean, the stern section rose upright again at a ninety-degree angle.

The stern seemed to bob in the water for an eternity, but it must have been no more than a minute. Suddenly, it slowly began to sink down below the water level. People were riding the stern to the ocean. And then it was gone. Everyone was in the water. And the air was filled with the mournful cries of the doomed.

"Please! Please, help us!" Anne distinctly heard a woman's voice. "I know you can hear us!"

"We must return for them," Megan looked pleadingly to the crewman.

"We can't. They'll swamp us. Haven't I already told you?" the crewman angrily glared at Megan.

"They're dying. Moody . . . Lowe . . . Lightoller . . . Wilde . . . Murdoch. All of them. They're dying. Our friends and family. They're freezing in the cold water, all because we're too selfish to return for them," Anne softly whispered. Fresh tears welled in her eyes at the thought of Murdoch's death. And then, another thought. She glared at the crewman. "There was no suction whirlpool! The ship did not pull a single person down! They just walked off it! We could have saved people!" She rose from her seat, ready to strangle the crewman, but Megan pulled her back down.

"Calm down, Anne. Everything will be fine," Megan whispered.

The water swept over Murdoch's head. The first thought, the only thought, was how cold the water was. _This is the end._ He tried to free himself . . . he was caught on something, but couldn't see what it was in the darkness. The ship pulled him farther down. _I killed them. All of them. It's my fault. And Anne . . . oh, God, I hope she gets to New York safely._ Suddenly, he felt someone at his side. Someone tried to free him. A moment later, Murdoch found himself among the hundreds of others in the water. He looked around. _Is this the last I'll see of this world? My doing . . . my fault. All mine._

Anne reached deep into her pocket. She pulled out the ring and unclasped her locket from her neck. Since the ring was too large for her fingers, she strung it on the chain with the locket, and put the necklace around her neck again. She wrapped the shawl around her.

"It's so cold," someone said.

"Imagine how cold the water is," Megan replied. She looked back to the frothy water, white with the thrashings of the people freezing in it.

_Our Father, who art in Heaven. _Anne looked around the boat. The passengers were either softly crying or staring straight ahead in shock. _Hallowed be Thy name._ She prayed that Murdoch was alive. _Thy kingdom come,_ _Thy will be done._ She grabbed Megan's hand and squeezed it tightly. _On Earth, as it is in Heaven._

_Give us this day our daily bread._ Megan prayed for those in the water. _And forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us. _She prayed for those in the boat. _Lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil. _She wondered why Ismay had gotten into the boat, when Andrews had perished. She had seen the latter in the smoking room. _For thine is the kingdom, and the power, and glory forever. Amen._

"S-So, is Anne in a l-lifeboat?" Moody asked. He shivered less than before.

"Y-Yes," Murdoch stiffly nodded. "I p-put her in C . . . with Ismay."

"I-Ismay!" Wilde exclaimed. "Son of a. . . . Well, I h-hope he's nice and w-warm." He blew on his silver whistle. He knew it would carry out for miles over the ocean, and he wanted the boats to return for the survivors.

"The temp-temperature is two b-below . . . Celsius," Murdoch replied.

"It's getting quiet," Anne whispered. Her arms were sore and her fingers were numb from rowing earlier, despite her gloves. Now, they were simply drifting, waiting. She flipped Murdoch's pocket watch open and shined one of the flashlights on it. "It's 2:50. Will would have been off duty for almost an hour, now."

"He'll be fine, Anne. Don't worry," Megan reassured her friend.

"Megan, you barely escaped. I'm certain most of your coworkers have perished. So many already have. . . . It was Will's duty to go down with the ship, and I can't see him having it any other way. He's too . . . too honorable. Unlike some." At this, Anne glanced quickly at Ismay, who stared dumbly in the direction of the site of the sinking. "I'll never see him again."

"Of course you will," Megan softly said. "There's always Heaven, if nothing else." She pulled her friend close to her.

"Thank you," Anne embraced her friend tightly and squeezed her eyes to keep the tears at bay. But it all seemed too much. Just a few weeks ago, she had been at Barclay, with no hope of anything better. And then came the letter. And the ticket. And then the most wonderful days of her life, accompanied by the most wonderful _man _of her life. But all of that was gone, now. It was all just a memory that Anne would cherish for the rest of her life. She was off to New York.

"What's the matter?" Megan asked with a concerned expression. She could have sworn that Anne had just groaned, or made some sort of noise.

"I just realized that I still have to go to Pennsylvania and work for the Lewises. To be quite honest, I never wanted to go in the first place, and now I _really _don't want to go. The only reason I agreed was because I needed to get away from Barclay. And I wanted to be close to my old home, even though it's owned by another family now. Well, I suppose we can't happen the way we want them to," Anne sighed remorsefully.

"Well, look on the bright side." A small smile formed on Megan's lips. "We might never be found, and then you won't have to go to the Lewises!"

Anne smiled and shook her head in amusement. As morbid as the thought was, it _did _slightly cheer her. But then the reality of it all seemed to finally sink in. Titanic _sank. Will is dead. Moody . . . he's gone, too. Rose? Jack? I hope they're both safe. I wonder what happened to Ruth and Cal. I could care less . . . no, I shouldn't say that. I would never wish death upon either of them. At least, I don't think so. Will's gone. Gone._ She reached up to her throat and dug her locket from under her layers of clothing. She absentmindedly fingered the charm and the ring hanging beside it. It was all she had. His ring, his pocket watch. The shawl he'd given her. _I don't even have a picture of him._

Time seemed to have stopped, and the lifeboat drifted aimlessly in the water. Once or twice, someone claimed to have seen the lights of a ship, but the others soon realized that it was someone in another lifeboat, trying to signal to the others. The sky was clear and ebony black and the stars were bright and numerous. The water was inky black and seemed foreboding and menacing. It was as though the sea threatened to swallow the lifeboats without a trace, and some felt as though it would truly happen. They would never be found; they would all die in the middle of the ocean.

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A/N: Okay, I've doubled the size of this story, so I think I've paid my penance. Please review! Thanks muchly!


	13. Chapter 13

Disclaimer: Oh, come on. Do I really need to repeat myself?

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Anne stared off into the distance. Her entire body felt numb, despite the sunshine on her face. Numb with exhaustion, both mental and physical. Numb with cold. The tragedy that had occurred hours ago seemed a lifetime ago, and she felt so much older than her twenty-three years. Her eyes widened when the sunlight lit the surrounding area. They were surrounded by an enormous ice field that stretched off to the north. Icebergs in every shape and size dotted the landscape, and the sunlight reflected off of it in breathtaking whites, pinks, blues, and purples. _How can something so beautiful be so horrible?_ She suddenly realized that one of the pinks reminded her of the pastel pink on a flower. Then, something else caught her eye. She gently shook Megan's shoulder; the woman had fallen asleep. It seemed everyone had. "Megan . . . Megan. Is that a ship?" 

"Hm?" Megan groggily opened her eyes. She glanced over at Anne, who seemed tired, but still wide awake somehow. She leaned closer as Anne whispered into her ear again, and then she followed Anne's line of vision. There was a large ship, though not as large as _Titanic_, traveling towards them. Megan, along with a few others, had seen it earlier, at around half past three that morning. At least, they thought they had seen it. But the crewmen had dismissed it as another lifeboat. But this, this was definitely not another lifeboat. "Oh my goodness Anne!"

"Ship! There's a ship!" Soon, the cry could be heard throughout the lifeboat.

Not long after, everyone was rowing anxiously towards the ship. The other lifeboats had also spotted it, although not all of them were able to row towards it. Cries of help could be heard from the men of one of the collapsible boats.

"_Carpathia_," Anne breathlessly whispered as they rowed towards the intimidating black hull of the ship. She scanned the other lifeboats, but they were still too far away for her to distinguish specific people. _I hope Rose is onboard._

Anne stood at the railing of _Carpathia_. She gripped the cold metal railing with white knuckles. He _had _to be in one of the lifeboats. _Where is he? He must be somewhere. Have I missed him? No, he's an officer. He'll be one of the last to board. _Rose stood beside her, one arm draped protectively around Anne's shoulder. But Anne hardly felt it. She hardly felt anything but hope, and the fear that her hopes would be crushed into a fine dust within minutes. She watched the other women near the railing slowly being led away as they sobbed hysterically and silently. But some were in shock, and they didn't cry at all. Anne watched one passenger after another lifted up to the deck, but none were faces she knew, albeit some she recognized vaguely.

Rose stared numbly out to sea. She had watched Jack, her first and only love, perish. And now, was the first man her stepsister ever had feelings for to die, as well? Rose had no desire to find Cal or her mother, or be found by them. In fact, she had covered her signature red hair with a blanket to make her more difficult to identify.

"Come, you look exhausted," Rose softly suggested. She already knew her love had perished; she didn't want Anne to watch the last passenger board with no sign of Murdoch. She gently began to pull her stepsister away.

"No, there's just a few more boats." Anne desperately searched the lifeboats below.

"Anne," Rose softly warned. "Please, be reasonable. You'll go insane."

Anne stared longingly down at the lifeboats. Finally, she nodded slowly. She cast one last look down to the remaining survivors, before she allowed Rose to lead her away.

Megan rose from her seated position on the deck as Anne and Rose neared. Seeing Anne's desolate expression, she knew they had not found Murdoch. "Mr. Hockley came down earlier, Miss Rose. I believe he was searching for you. He returned to first class after he gave up."

"He left? He was here? He survived?!" Rose let loose a string of curses that caused Anne to blush and Megan to giggle.

"I must busy myself. I'm going to see if help is needed anywhere," Anne softly stated.

"I'll accompany you," Megan offered.

"I'll think I'll stay, if you don't mind," Rose said, and the other two shook their heads.

Anne quickly found a steward, who informed her that three dining rooms had been converted into makeshift hospitals. She quickly thanked him before rushing off to the nearest dining room. She needed to keep her mind from Murdoch. No, she wanted to never forget him. But, was there a point in loving a dead person?

She reached into her pocket for her pocket watch. Her hand emerged holding Murdoch's. Sad, tired, and angry, she sank down along the wall of the corridor. She pulled her knees to her chest and rested her head on her knees. Every article of clothing she had donned the previous night she yet wore, even her life belt. The previous night. It seemed an eternity ago.

"What? You can't be serious!" Megan exclaimed in a harsh whisper. It was far too early for jokes.

"You must be mistaken," Rose added, the sleep that had been eluding her completely gone, now.

"No, I'm not mistaken, and I am quite serious," Lowe nodded gravely. All three looked down at Anne. She had not slept until perhaps half an hour ago, and even then, it had been a restless sleep.

"What should we do?" Rose asked.

"Wait until the morning," Lowe suggested. "It's too early now. Let her sleep."

Megan and Rose nodded, though they did not know exactly where Anne was, anyway. She had disappeared early in the afternoon, and had not returned. They had not searched for her; they all needed time alone with their thoughts. Besides, it was the best they could do. Let her sleep.

"Anne? Anne Stewart?" Lowe paused before the young woman. She was curled up in a corridor. He smiled when she looked up at him. "You're safe! Are you all right?"

"Harry! Have you seen Will?" Anne leapt to her feet, ignoring Lowe's question regarding her welfare.

"Yes," Lowe slowly nodded, after a long pause. "I've been searching for you."

"Is he . . . ?" Anne's voice trailed off.

"I'm sorry, Anne. I truly am," Lowe dropped his gaze to the ground, unable to look Anne in the eyes.

Anne's lips parted slightly, but no sound came out. The ship, the corridor, it was all spinning. _Dead. Will is dead. _She heard Lowe say something to her, but she couldn't understand it. Her head was pounding. Her heart was squeezing; it collapsed in upon itself. Her legs were rubber. She couldn't stand. She began to fall, but Lowe caught her and held her fast.

"Are you all right?" Lowe asked.

Anne numbly shook her head. Her breath came in short, fast gasps. Dead? How could he be dead? "You're . . . lying. Harry, please. Someone has made a mistake."

"I'm sorry, Anne. I'm sorry. There is no mistake." Lowe paused to think. "He wouldn't have wanted it any other way, you know. He could have never lived with himself."

"Harry. . . ." Anne shook her head. "I don't want to think about it. Is his body . . . where is it?"

"It's bad luck to have bodies on board a ship," Lowe softly reminded her.

"Of course," Anne nodded quickly. "Will told me so." She swiftly wiped a tear from her cheek before Lowe could see it. "Could you . . . could you stay with me a bit, perhaps?"

"I would love to, Anne, I really would. But the Captain needs to speak with the surviving officers. You understand, don't you, Love?" Lowe asked. He fixed his gaze on a spot just beyond Anne as he spoke.

"Yes. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to keep you from your duties," Anne said, as she temporarily regained control over her emotions. "I need to find Rose and Megan, anyway. They'll be searching for me." She swiftly turned on her heel and strode down the corridor, not quite certain where she was going, but not quite caring, either.

Lowe stared after Anne as she disappeared out of sight. He groaned slightly in pain for the poor girl. It wasn't right for her to suffer so. She had already endured enough.

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A/N: A. This is not the last chapter! B. Sorry it took me so long to come up with an idea! C. This chapter may still be edited; I've been deleting and copying and pasting all night, but it's midnight and a few friends from my Spanish III class are coming over tomorrow to cook things for a party we're having with the French III class. D. Thanks _sooo_ much for all of the reviews! They seriously made my day, and they really kept me motivated as far as the story is concerned. I could never stop writing it, though. 


	14. Chapter 14

Disclaimer: I don't own the characters of "Titanic." Gee, what a shocker.

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"Oh, Anne." The look on the young woman's face was enough to tell Rose Murdoch's fate. She rushed to embrace her stepsister in protective arms. Rose had never seen Anne in such a state. Anne appeared ready to cry at any moment, but remarkably held her tears at bay. "I'm so sorry."

"He froze to death, Rose," Anne whispered, after several moments. "He died in that water."

"I know, Anne, I know," Rose murmured. Her heart ached at the thought. Jack had suffered an identical fate, and she had almost suffered the same.

Megan watched the pair from a distance. She felt a sharp pain in her throat and behind her eyes, but she blinked the tears away and swallowed the lump in her throat. _He's dead. You knew he'd be too honorable to allow himself to live, but he why didn't he think about Anne? She's such a sweet girl. _Megan frowned. It wasn't right to think ill thoughts of the deceased. She waited a moment longer, until Anne slowly began to pull away from Rose, before she approached them.

"Megan." Rose said the name with no sense of distaste or pompousness; Megan was an equal in her eyes. She cast a worried look in Anne's direction.

"He didn't make it," Anne whispered.

Megan nodded gravely. "He died an honorable death," she said, and the three fell silent.

"I think . . . I think perhaps they'll need help. In the hospitals," Anne finally said. "I should . . . go help." With that, she left her two friends in search of one of the three dining rooms that had been converted into makeshift hospitals.

"Have you seen Mother?" Rose asked Anne as the three returned to the third-class area that evening.

"No, have you been searching for her?" Anne asked.

"Are you serious?" Rose asked. "Of course not. Megan said she'd seen Cal, though." She looked to Megan for confirmation, and the latter nodded. "Mother survived; I watched her board the lifeboat. If they're both still alive . . . well, I'd rather avoid them as much as possible. I don't want to see them again."

"If I see them and they inquire about your whereabouts, I'll tell them you did not survive," Anne replied, slightly uneasy at the prospect of lying. She decided to change the subject. "What are your plans for America?"

"I have no idea," Rose admitted. "Jack . . . Jack wanted to do so many things. . . ." She paused and sighed heavily. Jack. She had loved him so much. . . . No, she still loved him.

"I will send word to my parents. Perhaps I will return home," Megan shrugged. "I don't really care for ships all of a sudden. What are your plans?"

Anne paused. What _were _her plans, anyway? She could always go to the Lewises, but she detested the idea. She also wanted to speak with a certain friend of the family in New York. . . . She sighed.

"Anne?" Anne's thoughts jarred back to reality at Rose's voice. "Are you all right? Megan asked about your plans."

"Oh, yes. My plans. I promised the Lewises that I would work for them," Anne replied.

Both Rose and Megan blankly stared at Anne. "You can't be serious," Rose protested. "After all of this? Will, Jack . . . they died for us, Anne. Live a little! I should think that, after living in that finishing school, you'd want to do something a bit more exciting with your life!"

"I don't want to be a governess," Anne finally admitted.

"I don't blame you," Rose replied. "Perhaps we should all rethink our plans for a moment."

"The three of us could find lodging somewhere, until we decide what to do," Megan boldly suggested. She was entirely comfortable around Anne, but Rose still seemed to clutch to what little bit of first-class air she yet possessed.

"That sounds wonderful," Rose nodded genially.

The three dodged families sprawled out over every inch of the deck. They made their way to a corner and sat down there to eat their soup in silence.

* * *

A/N: Once again, thanks muchly for all of your reviews! I'm thinking this fan fic will be about 20 chapters or so. . . . 


	15. Chapter 15

Disclaimer: insert something sarcastic Don't own.

* * *

It was Tuesday. Anne seemed to feel nothing. Nothing, save the crushing emptiness in her heart. Neither Megan nor Rose had been successful in trying to cheer her up, but Megan had given Anne a rather stern lecture on moping about and being shiftless. And so, Anne continued to help the survivors, but with a rather mechanical, unfeeling attitude. Until she met a certain child.

Anne quickly walked down the corridor to the hospital with a pile of blankets. As she entered, she glanced around, as she was wont to do. Her gaze finally rested on a small boy. He appeared no more than one or two, and he was sitting beside a young woman. Something seemed wrong, however, and Anne took a closer look. The young woman's eyes were open, but she never blinked. Her face was pale and her pupils were dilated. The young woman was dead, and Anne's supposition was confirmed when two men came to remove her body. She watched as the young boy watched the woman carried off, first in confusion, then in fear. He immediately began to cry, and Anne rushed over to comfort him. She scooped him up in her arms and tried to stop his tears.

"She was his last relative," a nurse said as she passed Anne. She then stopped to look at the boy.

"Was she his mother?" Anne asked, as the boy's sobs slowly became hiccups.

"His older sister," the nurse replied. She then walked off, and Anne was left alone with the child.

Anne looked around her. A man laid near the woman's place, and so she asked him if he knew the child's name. The man replied that he had heard the boy called "Will," and his sister had been "Miss Roster." Anne thanked him, and then proceeded to ask every young woman she met if she would be willing to care for the child. All declined, and by noon, Anne found herself without a guardian for the child, who simply looked at her with big, blue eyes.

"Who is this?" Rose asked upon seeing Anne with the child.

"His name is Will Roster. His older sister and only surviving relative has just died, and no one will take him," Anne replied.

"I'm sure we'll find someone in New York. Everyone always seems to have a relative in America," Megan nodded. "In the meanwhile, he's quite a handsome child!"

That night, a storm arose. Anne did her best to calm little Will, who seemed to think that each thunderclap was the ship hitting an iceberg. For once, Megan, Rose, and Anne retreated inside the ship for the evening.

Anne sat up most of the night with Will. She walked up and down corridors for most of the night with him, singing or talking to him. He seemed to feel safe with her, and Anne did not mind. She was simply grateful that he had stopped crying.

Wednesday morning dawned dreary and rainy. The storm had not passed, and Anne was tired of the water. She thought back to _Titanic_, and the dreary sky that had been the backdrop for her boarding that day not too long ago. _Titanic would have docked in New York today. _She thought of Murdoch, and squeezed little Will even more tightly to her. What a coincidence that their names were both Will.

Anne, Megan, and Rose spent most of the day doting on Will and walking about the ship. The young child was a welcome relief from the sadness that lingered about them, and they began to almost hope that he had no relatives, so they could care for him.

"Excuse me, Miss," a rather smart looking man approached Anne. "I've seen you about before, and I was wondering if I might have a word with you. The name is Carlos Hurd, and I am a reporter for the _St. Louis Post-Dispatch _and the _New York World_."

"I'm sorry, but I'm rather busy," Anne quietly said. She offered a sad but polite smile, then quickly excused herself. She hated reporters.


	16. Chapter 16

Disclaimer: I don't own the characters of the movie. If I did, I doubt I'd be writing a fan fiction here.

* * *

Part 2

Anne checked Murdoch's pocket watch. It was 9:25 when _Carpathia _docked at Cunard's Pier 54, a rain was still steadily falling, and there had been no sign of any guardian for Will. She had asked if there would be family friends waiting to greet him, but was told that the Rosters had sailed for New York alone, with no friends there. She and her companions stared up at the Statue of Liberty. It seemed almost to mock them. They had reached the United States of America, but at what cost? A steward approached them.

"Can I take your name, Love?" he asked, clipboard and pen in hand.

"Megan Carter," Megan softly answered. She tried to ignore the yachts, tugs, and other boats surrounding the _Carpathia_. She blocked out the reporters' voices as they shouted questions through megaphones.

"Dawson," Rose replied. "Rose Dawson."

Anne smiled gently at her stepsister's reply. She watched the remaining crew members of _Titanic _rowing the lifeboats to the White Star pier. It was their last task as _Titanic _crewmen. "Anne. Anne Murdoch. And this is Will . . . Murdoch. William Murdoch II."

The steward thanked them and continued on his way. The three women's eyes opened wide when they saw the huge crowd of people around the pier, and more yet in the streets leading to the docks.

"There must be at least 50,000 people!" Megan exclaimed.

Anne excused herself to search for Lowe. However, she could not find him, and thought he had perhaps left with the other _Titanic _crewmen. Sadly, she returned to her friends.

"What is it?" Megan asked.

Rose glanced over at her with an odd expression on her face. "There's something in my coat pocket." Her hand emerged to reveal a very large, blue diamond. She gasped. "The Heart of the Ocean!"

Anne stared at her stepsister, awestruck. Her stepsister had, in her hand, a very rare, very expensive diamond. She began to laugh at the absurdity of it all. It had been a tiresome day.

Anne descended the gangplank with Will and Murdoch's effects. With no one waiting for her, she felt slightly lost, but was comforted by her two friends beside her. However, the magnesium flashes of the reporters' cameras made her angry enough to want to smash them all on the street. It was raining slightly, which made the day even worse.

"What should we do?" Megan asked. Suddenly, she found herself without any schedule.

Anne reconsidered her plans. Now, she had no reason not to go to the Lewises. Except for the fact that Will was still in her care, and she had not given the name the Lewises knew her as . . . they would never know if she survived or not. Suddenly, a great weight seemed to lift itself from her chest, and she smiled.

The four found lodging in a small hotel. It was clean and well furnished, but small. The four of them slept in two separate rooms. Megan had originally volunteered to room with Will, but he fussed if Anne left his sight, and so Anne and Will shared one room, while Megan and Rose took the other.

Will slept soundly that night, but only after being rather restless until one o'clock the next morning. Anne spent the night singing lullabies to Will, one of which was "Danny Boy." It reminded her of Murdoch, and her voice had broken often throughout the song.

"Are you all right? You look tired," Rose commented the following morning as they ate breakfast in a small restaurant.

"Will kept me awake," Anne sighed as she took a sip of her coffee.

"Which one?" Megan gently asked.

"Both," Anne sighed again, and she glanced down at the small child in the chair beside her.

"The Inquiry began today," Rose informed them.

"The what?" Anne asked.

"The United States Senate began in inquiry into the accident," Rose replied.

"Well, I don't think they'll find anyone at fault. It was a complete accident," Anne shook her head. She missed the look Rose and Megan exchanged. "A complete accident that took hundreds of lives."

"What should we do now?" Rose asked, in an effort to change the subject.

"I can not and will not continue to the Lewises. I don't want to leave Will alone, and nor do I want to go at all. I did not state my name as Elizabeth Stewart, and so they will not know if I survived," Anne stated. "However, I seem to recall a certain friend of the family. He lives here in New York; it's just a matter of finding him. He wrote me once or twice in Barclay. Oh! I just remembered, I was to write to Miss Temple."

"What's his name, this friend of the family?" Megan asked. "You can write to Miss Temple later."

"John Trelawney. He's a rather wealthy man . . . and he owed my father a favor. Perhaps, I will be able to collect on that debt," Anne hoped.

"Brilliant! We can search for him later today," Rose nodded. She knew the necklace would fetch a pretty penny, but one of the many voices she'd been hearing in her head of late had told her not to sell it. She felt selfish and guilty hoarding it, but decided to listen to them, anyway.

"Of course I'll help you, Elizabeth!" John Trelawney nodded as he clapped his large hands. He leaned over his ornate desk and smiled at the three women opposite him. "James was a dear friend of mine, and I'd gladly do anything for his daughter. How much do you need?"

"Well," Anne shifted uncomfortably. She hated asking favors, and she especially despised asking for money. But, it was necessary. "My father handled my family's financial affairs, so I really cannot ask for a particular amount. I simply need enough to sustain the four of us for a short while, until we make plans. I'll pay you back in full when I am able to."

"Nonsense!" John shook his head as raucous laughter roared from somewhere deep inside him. "Your father helped me out several times when I was in your exact predicament. Don't you mention it again. It's the least I can do." John rose from his desk, his tailored suit slightly tight across his rather large middle. "Now, don't worry about a thing. We'll have it all sorted out by the end of the day."

Anne opened her mouth to speak again, but John was shaking his head and reminding her to think nothing of it. She finally gave up and smiled instead. What luck!


	17. Chapter 17

Disclaimer: ditto the other disclaimers.

* * *

"Well, I must admit you have more influence than I thought," Rose teased, then added, "Or at least, more influence than Mother thought."

"Honestly, I didn't expect him to give us the money," Anne shook her head. Her mind was still processing the fact that a man she hadn't seen in years had willingly given her a generous sum of money. She made a mental note to write him a thank-you note later, with every intention of paying him back to the last cent. She knew her parents would not have had it any other way.

"Do you know where the Inquiry is being conducted?" Anne asked the following morning over breakfast.

"No, but I'm certain someone will know," Rose replied with a slight shrug of her shoulders.

"I'd like to find Harry," Anne quietly stated as she traced the rim of her coffee cup with her finger. "I need to speak with him."

"Anne, really. We've all lost people in the accident, but we can't keep dwelling on it," Megan concernedly said. "There's nothing we can do, especially now. We just have to move on with our lives. Think about the other people still living who need you." She looked around the room. "Think about young Will here! He needs you more than anything right now."

Anne sighed as Rose excused herself for a moment. She looked down at the young child perched on her lap, who was happily munching on a buttered croissant. She played with his thick, dark hair so much like his namesake's, then lightly rested her chin atop his head. "You're right. But, just the same, I'd like to speak with Harry. I haven't seen him since we docked."

"I think the Inquiry is being conducted at the Waldorf-Astoria Hotel. And all witnesses are to be interrogated," Rose stated, upon seating herself again.

"Who told you that?" Anne asked.

"The bartender," Rose replied.

"I don't want to," Megan shook her head.

"Neither do I," Anne added. "Must we?"

"Most likely. They have a list of our names, after all. Still, I suppose some passengers have already left the area," Rose said.

"I wonder if they would mind if we 'left the area,'" Megan mused with a groan.

"Well, we don't have to give them a choice. Just let me find Harry and speak with him for a bit. May we go now?" Anne asked, and the four were soon on their way to the Waldorf-Astoria Hotel.

"Where do you think he'll be?" Megan asked as they walked down the sidewalk towards the hotel.

"There!" Rose pointed across the street to a young man briskly walking towards the intersection to cross the street.

"Harry!" Anne shouted loudly, not caring who stared at her for her lack of etiquette. She smiled when the man's head popped up and looked around. She waved to him, and he smiled and waved in return, before jogging over to them.

"My, you're looking well," Lowe grinned as he looked at the four of them. "I see you still have the little boy with you."

"Yes . . . Will. Will Murdoch II," Anne softly whispered, then glanced down at the boy in her arms. She sighed, then looked up at Lowe again. "How are you, really? Do you think we could talk? Or do you have to be inside for the Inquiry?"

"To answer your questions chronologically, I'm fine, I suppose, yes, and not for a few days," Lowe replied. He glanced at his watch. "Might I treat you ladies, and young gentleman, to lunch?"

"Well, we don't want to impose," Megan interjected. She began to take Will from Anne's arms, then remembered his fondness of the other woman. She pulled her arms away.

"Yes, we have things to do," Rose nodded. "It was a pleasure seeing you again, Mr. Lowe. We'll meet you back at the hotel, Anne."

Before Anne or Lowe could say anything to protest, the other two women were already walking down the street, away from them. They looked at each other in surprise, then smiled slightly.

"The hotel Lightoller, Pitman, Boxhall, Bride, the others, and I are lodged in has a nice little café beside it. Care to join me for lunch?" Lowe asked.

"I'd be delighted," Anne nodded, and set Will on the ground. She grasped one of his hands, and Lowe took the other. Thus, the three of them began walking down the sidewalk.

"So, how are you?" Lowe asked, as they seated themselves at a small table. "I mean, really, how are you?"

Anne considered the question for a moment. "Devastated. Utterly devastated. Not only because of Will's death, but because of all the other deaths. On an unsinkable ship! Well, I guess I knew it wasn't unsinkable, but. . . ." Anne sighed and placed her head in her hands. "I've nowhere to go. Well, nowhere that I wish to go. I could go to the Lewises, I suppose, but what would I do with Will? I'd have to leave him, and I cannot do that. My parents are dead. I've no idea what Ruth would do if she knew I survived, and if she did, she'd ask if Rose had survived. I detest lying, but I could never betray Rose."

Lowe nodded. "Well, I can't say that I blame you for not wanting to go to the Lewises, or anywhere else, for that matter. I wish the whole thing never would have happened."

"I agree, but it was an accident, after all," Anne replied.

Lowe slowly nodded. _Should I tell her? I should tell her. But, I can't. I promised Will. . . . But, look at her! She's so depressed! She has a right to know. Well, she'll know when the time is right._ "So, do you intend on keeping Will as your own?"

"I-I don't know," Anne shook her head. She looked over at Will, who was happily kicking his feet and looking around the café. "I've never raised a child before. I tutored at an academy, but they were girls, not boys. And the ones I taught were at least eight years of age. Will is not even half that."

"Well. . . ." Lowe's voice trailed off. _It's the least you can do for her._ "I'm certain Murdoch's family would be glad to meet you."

"W-What?" Anne asked. "They've never met me. I don't know how accepting they'd be of me."

"I've met them before. Anne, you'll never meet more congenial people. And, I'm certain if they knew how close you'd been to him, how fond he had been of you, they'll love you just as though you were their daughter," Lowe nodded. "Won't you give it a try?"

"But, Rose . . . and Megan . . . I can't leave them," Anne softly said.

"Do you expect to live with them the rest of your life? You have to move on. What do they plan on doing?" Lowe asked.

"Well, Megan has family in England. Rose will probably want to do all of those things she and Jack talked about. I suppose you're right . . . we can't stay together indefinitely," Anne sighed.

"I've no idea how long the Inquiry will last, otherwise I'd escort you there myself. Perhaps you and Megan could travel together. But, if you want to escape these reporters and politicians, I suggest you leave fairly soon. They'll hunt you down in the blink of an eye, and then you'll never have a moment's rest," Lowe advised. He glanced at his watch. "Well, it's getting late. I don't want Rose and Megan to worry. Besides, I think Will is getting restless." He rose from his chair. "If you take my advice, send this to my mum, would you?" He handed her a note from his pocket. "And keep in touch."

"Thank you, Harry. For everything," Anne rose from her chair, tears welling in her green eyes. She stepped forward to embrace Harry. "You've been a great friend, and I shall miss you sorely."

"Blimey, let's not get all teary-eyed," Lowe chuckled. "This isn't good-bye for ever. You're going to write, remember? We'll write to each other and visit when all of this is sorted out."

Anne smiled weakly and nodded her head. She watched Lowe pay the bill and leave, but remained at the table. They had to leave. As soon as possible.

A week had passed since _Titanic's _survivors had arrived in New York City. A rather long, agonizing week. And for Megan, Anne, and Will, it was the day they would sail back to Southampton via _Carpathia_, the ship many had deemed "lucky." Anne preferred to think there was more to it than luck, but kept her thoughts to herself.

"Write to us," Megan told Rose, and handed her a scrap of paper with her address written on it. "I'll make sure Anne gets the letters you write to her. You'll have to include your address, so we know where to write to you."

"I will," Rose tearfully nodded as she hugged Megan. "I'm going to miss you so much. All of you." She finally released Megan, and then pulled Anne into her embrace. "You must promise to write, and visit some day."

"I promise," Anne smiled sadly. "I'm going to miss you. Don't hesitate to come if you need anything. I plan on going to Dalbeattie to live near Will's family, but I'll have my own home. You're always welcome to visit, both of you."

After much more hugging and crying, the three women said their good-byes, and Megan and Anne boarded _Carpathia_. Immediately, memories surged through Anne as she recalled the last time she'd boarded a ship, and Murdoch's face flashed through her mind. Determined not to cry, she bit her lip and found her cabin with tear-blurred eyes.


	18. Chapter 18

Disclaimer: If you recognize any characters from the movie, they obviously aren't my own creation.

* * *

Part 3

It was the second of May. England was a dark line on the horizon, steadily growing thicker and more pronounced. Anne, Megan, and Will stood at the bow, staring ahead with hope.

"Momma," Will tugged at Anne's skirts. "Momma, up."

Anne smiled gently. Will's decision to call her "Momma" sent shivers of glee down her spine every time she heard it. She lovingly scooped the boy up into her arms so he could see better. She rested her head on Will's as he snuggled his face into her shoulder. "You're almost home, Megan."

Megan nodded. A lump in her throat kept her from talking, and she knew if she opened her mouth, tears would come, instead. She smiled. She was almost home. Home had never looked so wonderful.

"Won't you come and meet my family? You're welcome to spend the night, or longer, if you wish. My family won't mind. You can't make the journey to Dalbeattie any longer today, anyway. It's almost dinnertime," Megan shook her head. "Come on." She hailed a cab. "We'll go to my house."

"I don't want to impose," Anne shook her head and spoke softly as a cab pulled over.

"Nonsense," Megan dismissed the phrase with a wave of her hand. She stepped up into the cab, then helped Anne and Will up beside her.

Anne smiled uncertainly as Megan gave the address to the driver. Soon, they were on their way to Megan's home. Suddenly, Anne was nervous. What if they didn't like her? What if they wanted nothing to do with her? What if they turned her away? What if they were angry that he had died? Suddenly, Anne was aware that her thoughts had turned from the Carters to the Murdochs.

"Megan!" Two young girls who looked almost identical but nothing like Megan catapulted out of their chairs at the kitchen table and ran to embrace their older sister as she walked into the house.

"Penny! Lyd!" Megan laughed happily, completely relaxed. She knelt down to her sisters' level. "How have you been? I've missed you dearly!"

"Robbie received your letter. He's at work. He should be home soon, though," Penny announced, then peered past Megan to Anne and Will. "Who are they?"

"Penny, this is my dear friend, Anne Ste—Murdoch, and her son, Will," Megan explained.

"Where's her husband?" Lydia asked. "Did he die, like Daddy?"

"Lydia! Don't be rude!" Penny exclaimed.

"I just wanted to know!" Lydia protested.

"All right, girls. It appears nothing has changed since I last saw you a few weeks ago," Megan shook her head with a smile.

"Nay, it hasn't," an older woman appeared behind the two younger girls. "Hello, Megan. You've grown up since I last saw you."

"Mum!" Megan smiled, and ran to embrace her mother. "I've missed you!"

"I've missed you, too. How are you?" Mrs. Carter asked, then noticed their guests. "Oh, I'm sorry. Megan, introduce your guests!"

"She already did, Mum," Lydia said.

"This is Anne Murdoch. She was my dearest friend on _Titanic_, and she helped me get back here. She's been the best friend I've ever had. This is Will Murdoch. She adopted him; he was orphaned in the disaster," Megan explained.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Carter," Anne smiled.

"Oh, please. Call me Mary," Mrs. Carter smiled. "Well, let's not stand here in the doorway! Dinner's just about ready. You'll stay the night, won't you? Good," Mrs. Carter nodded, without waiting for a reply.

"My, Mum, you're certainly healthier than when I left," Megan smiled.

"Yes, well, learning that you were on your way home did me good," Mrs. Carter grinned, then turned to finish preparing dinner.

"She certainly seems kind," Anne told Megan as they walked up the stairs.

"Oh, yes. I've missed her so," Megan sighed with happiness. She led Anne and Will down the hallway and into a room. "Sorry it's not larger. You and Will should have a larger room. I'll put you in mine."

"No! Megan, please. Really, this is fine," Anne smiled with a shake of her head. "You don't have to give up your bed for us. This is your first night home! Will and I will be fine. Thank you."

"You're welcome," Megan smiled, after a while. A brief silence hung in the air as the three looked around the room. "Well. I'll let you get settled, and after dinner I'll show you around the house." She tilted her head to the side for a moment, listening. "I hear a male voice downstairs. Must be Robbie! Come, I'll introduce you to my brother!"

"Well, you've been quite a friend to Meg, then," Robbie grinned at Anne from across the dinner table.

"I only did what anyone else would have," Anne glanced down at her plate as a blush rose on her collarbone.

Megan "tuh"-ed. "Anne, I've never met someone of your social standing as nice as you are."

"If you'll recall, I more or less pretended to be of that particular social standing," Anne corrected.

"Either way, you've been a great help to Megan, and we're very grateful that you're her friend and ours," Mrs. Carter smiled kindly. She patted Will's head. "This little boy is very fortunate to have met someone as kind as you who would adopt him."

"I only did what any-" Anne began.

"I don't know many people who would randomly adopt a child, Anne," Megan interjected.

"So, what are your plans?" Robbie asked, changing the subject slightly.

"Well, I'd like to go to Dalbeattie and visit Will's family. I feel like I should talk to them and tell them about his . . . bravery. After that . . . I don't know what I'll do," Anne shrugged, as she finally understood the uncertainty of her future.

"You're always welcome here, Dear," Mrs. Carter smiled. "You and little Will."

"Thank you, Mrs. Carter. You're so kind to me," Anne nodded.

"Please. I only did what anyone else would have," Mrs. Carter grinned, quoting Anne. "And, didn't I ask you to call me 'Mary?'"

* * *

A/N: Hm. I'm thinking there will be about 25 chapters now, at least. And four parts. 


	19. Chapter 19

Disclaimer: Guess who owns the rights to the Titanic movie!!!! Not me!

* * *

2:30 A.M. That was the time Murdoch's pocket watch displayed in the white moonlight. Anne snapped the piece closed, but kept it in her hand. With the other, she rubbed the gold band Murdoch had given her. In the silence of the night, she heard the screams of the dying and frightened. She saw Murdoch's face clearly, and felt his strength surround her. Her vision blurred as tears welled in her eyes, and she suppressed a sob. She quickly glanced over at Will, but he was soundly sleeping. She slowly exhaled, relieved that she hadn't woken him. _Will it be rude if I leave tomorrow? I don't want to overstay my welcome. Maybe I'll leave tomorrow morning. With Harry's instructions, I have the general idea. I'll just visit a little. I'll stay in a hotel, and I can take Will. I don't know that he'll stay with Megan, and I'd hate to burden her with him. Yes. I'll leave tomorrow._

"Do you know the most direct route to Dalbeattie?" Anne asked Megan early the next morning.

"No, but Robbie probably does. It's over 350 miles away, Anne," Megan informed her friend. She took in Anne's slightly surprised expression. "You didn't know that, did you?"

Anne shook her head. "I've never been to Scotland. I've seen little of Great Britain, aside from the country near the Academy."

"Well, it's a long travel. It will take quite a while. When had you planned on leaving?"

"Today."

"Today?"

"Yes. I don't want to burden your family."

"You're no burden."

"Still . . . I would really like to see Will's family. And . . . I suppose I should give them his personal items. They deserve to have them."

"Would you like to leave Will with us?"

"I just said I didn't want to burden your family!"

"Will is no burden; Mother loves him. And Lydia and Penny adore him. He's a younger brother to them. I'm certain we can manage him. After all, he knows me fairly well now, and it won't take long before he'll recognize the rest of my family. Please? It will make your journey easier and swifter. But, you must not leave tomorrow. A week from now. Don't look at me like that! A week! I want to show you around. And you must rest. We must make plans."

"Well. . . ." Anne bit her lower lip. Her forehead creased into a frown as she thought. Will had become her child over the past few weeks, and she loved him dearly. As she thought of leaving him, even for a short while, she realized how much she'd miss him. _But, I can trust Megan and her family. I would trust them with my life. _"All right."

"Now, since you've lived in a stuffed-up boarding school for most of your life, I doubt you'll know the first thing about shopping in London," Megan teased as they wandered the streets of the city.

"Well, I did shop once in a small village just—" Anne began defensively.

"London is not a 'small village," Megan grinned. "There are pickpockets, so guard your valuables. And, the stall owners will try to cheat you sometimes, so you have to watch out for that. You have to make sure you get the freshest food. Haggle until the price drops as low as possible. If you can find a flaw, that's always helpful."

"I don't know that I'm going to remember all of this," Anne shook her head.

"Well, that's why you have me!" Megan smiled. "Now, we need eggs. . . ."

Anne sent the letter from Lowe and her letter to Miss Temple the next morning. She missed the woman, and hoped to visit her some day in the future. For now, she was simply too harried to be pleasant.

"The British Board of Trade began its investigation the other day. I just heard that. Can't believe we didn't know that," Robbie shook his head.

"When will it end? Will the witnesses be able to return home soon?" Anne asked. She was thinking of Lowe and Lightoller.

"The British will do a right job sorting out this mess. I don't expect it to end any earlier than the end of June, perhaps July."

"July!"

"Yes, July."

"That's a long ways off."

"Indeed. Was there someone you wanted to see?"

"Well, I had hoped to speak with a friend. Perhaps he'll write."

"Perhaps."

"I hope Rose writes to us soon," Megan mused aloud one evening as the two women walked home from a long day entertaining Will.

"I do, too. I miss her. I wish I knew she was safe. I feel terrible for leaving her alone as we did. Especially so soon after Jack . . . after Jack died," Anne shook her head.

"Yes, but we can't all stay together for the rest of our lives. Besides, Rose has a fiery spirit to match her hair. She's a clever girl. She'll do fine. And she always has her mother, if she's truly desperate."

"I don't think she'd go to her mother if she were on the brink of death."

"True. I wonder what happened to her mother?"

"Ruth is probably living happily in some large mansion with an army of servants. Cal has probably already begun the search for a new Mrs. Hockley-to-be. Perhaps he's already found her."

"I never liked him, if I may be so bold."

"Indeed, you may. Will!" Anne shot the boy a warning look as he ran towards the harbor. "Come here." The boy immediately ran to the two women, and both took either hand.

A red Renault parked outside the Carter household on the morning of the first day of the second week of Anne's stay in London, complete with a driver hired by Robbie as a surprise for Anne. The latter's eyes lit up with joy and surprise when she saw the gift, unable to believe anyone would go to the lengths of searching for a driver to take her to Dalbeattie. However, she almost began to weep with joy when she realized that the driver was indeed the same man who had taken her from Barclay to Southampton just weeks earlier. It seemed a lifetime ago.

"Write if you have a chance, and I'll know where to write if Rose sends a letter," Megan called out to Anne from the doorway.

"I will!" Anne smiled in return as the chauffeur helped her into the car. She waved to Will, who waved back, surprisingly comfortable in Megan's arms. She leaned back in the seat as the driver slid into the front seat. She began to wave to the Carter family as the car pulled away from the curb, and disappeared down the street.

"I never asked your name," Anne mused aloud the next day. They had traveled all of the previous day, and rested briefly during the night.

"Tom," the chauffeur replied. "Tom Welkins."

"Well, Mr. Welkins, it is a pleasure to see you again. Thank you for your kindness during our last trip," Anne nodded with a smile.

"The pleasure is all mine, Miss Stewart. It isn't every day that I have a passenger as complacent as yourself," Mr. Welkins winked.

Anne smiled her polite-but-not-forced smile. It was the smile she had been using ever since Murdoch had died . . . her real smile seemed to joyous to use ever again, and she wasn't entirely certain that she cared if she ever used it again, anyway.


	20. Chapter 20

Disclaimer: Don't own. Never will. Period.

* * *

"Miss Stewart?" Mr. Welkins gently shook Anne's shoulder. "Miss Stewart, we've arrived in Dalbeattie. We're at the hotel." 

"What?" Anne's eyes flew open. He had said almost the exact same thing when they'd arrived in Southampton, and for a moment, thought that was where she was. However, a glance around told her they were nowhere near Southampton.

"I'll take your things inside. Mr. Carter says you're to let him know when you wish to return to Southampton, and I'll come for you," Mr. Welkins said, as he carried Anne's few suitcases into the hotel.

A few minutes later, Anne signed in to the hotel. As the receptionist spoke to her in the same warm, rolling accent Murdoch had spoken with, she felt her heart squeeze and constrict.

Anne flopped down on the small bed. Her small frame, a bit emaciated from her depression, bounced a few times as the springs squeaked in the mattress. She sighed. Her heart pounded. _He _had been born there. _He _had been raised and schooled there. And, his family was a short distance away. Her stomach flip-flopped at the thought, and Anne decided sleep would do her good. _I'll visit them tomorrow. Or, perhaps I'll explore. I'm not even hungry anymore._ Exhausted from her travels, Anne fell asleep still fully clothed atop the blankets, her suitcases at the foot of her bed.

"G'mornin', Miss Stewart," the receptionist nodded kindly as Anne descended the stairs to the main lobby.

"Good morning," Anne replied with a nod of acknowledgment. Suddenly, an idea popped into her head. She smoothed her skirts and scanned the lobby, before approaching the receptionist. "Excuse me, I've never been here before. Could you tell me where the tavern is?"

"Which tavern?" the receptionist asked, with a slight smile. "There are a few."

"Oh. . . ." Anne's voice trailed off. She recalled a conversation she had had with Murdoch that night in the third-class general room. _There's a little tavern in Dalbeattie; my father and I used to go there often. I think you'd enjoy their coffee; you could use the caffeine in the mornings. _She had laughed over the hubbub and teasingly shook her head. _Just because I don't relish waking every morning at some ungodly hour does not mean I need caffeine! _"Well, do you know of the Murdoch family?"

"Do I know of the Murdochs?" the receptionist asked, as though she were simple-minded. "Of course! Terrible thing, what happened to Will. . . ."

"Well, could you tell me which tavern he and his father frequented?" Anne asked, as she fought to swallow the rising lump in her throat.

The receptionist tilted his head slightly and studied her. Suddenly, he seemed to realize something. "Ah. Well. That's an easy one. Just go down the street two blocks and take a left. Can't miss it."

"Thank you," Anne smiled faintly. She walked out of the hotel, and began the walk to the unnamed tavern. As she slowly made her way down the sidewalk, she fingered the wedding band on her locket chain. With her other hand, she reached deep into her coat pocket to touch the pocket watch, and seemed to derive strength from both pieces.

The heavy wooden door swung open with a slight squeak. Anne stepped inside the tavern, which was slightly smoky and smelled of cigars and beer. As her eyes adjusted to the dim, yellow light, Anne could see ten or so tables and a bar, behind which stood a man. Three patrons sat at the bar, chatting with the bartender, and all eyes turned to her as she entered.

"'Afternoon," the bartender nodded. He glanced at Anne sideways. "Can I help you with somethin'?"

"I-I was just . . . no, thank you," Anne stuttered. She shook her head, and the bartender nodded. The customers slowly turned their attention back to their conversation, and Anne began to wander around the tavern. Her gaze fixed on a collage of pictures on one of the walls, and she studied each photograph pinned on the board.

"They're all citizens," the bartender called over to Anne, who turned at the sound of his voice. He pointed to the collage. "They've all made some sort of achievement."

_Is becoming _Titanic's _First Officer an achievement?_ Anne scanned the collage more fervently as she heard a squeaky hinge to her left. Suddenly, her hand flew to her mouth and she gasped. Slowly falling into a nearby chair, her eyes remained glued to the picture.

"Are you all right?" a voice asked from behind her. An elderly man stepped in front of her. "You look pale."

"I-I just . . . I recognized one of the men."

"Which one?"

Anne pointed to the photograph of two men.

"Aye, handsome, isn't he?"

"Very."

"How did you know him?"

"_Titanic_. I didn't know him long, but. . . ."

"You're Anne Stewart."

"Y-Yes, Sir. How did you know?"

"Letters. I'm Samuel Murdoch. The man on the left is myself. The man on the right is my fourth oldest son, Will."

* * *

A/N: Dun dun dun!!! I have at least three more chapters ready to go, but oh em gee, this is just so much fun! I love evil cliff hangers!!! 


	21. Chapter 21

Disclaimer: Same old, same old :).

* * *

"You're Will's father?" Anne asked. Her eyes widened in surprise. She looked back to the photograph.

"Yes. You should have sent us a message. Jeannie would have prepared the guest room."

"I-I didn't want to impose. I mean, I just came to. . . . I'm perfectly fine at the hotel."

"We have a lot to discuss," Mr. Murdoch said, after a long silence. "Are you busy this evening?"

"No."

"Come to dinner. Oakland Cottage on High Street."

"Mr. Murdoch, I couldn't possibly—"

"Well, it's why you came, isn't it?"

"Yes, but I only wished to speak with you, and perhaps your wife. I don't wish to impose or intrude upon—"

Mr. Murdoch chuckled and shook his head. "Don't worry about imposing or intruding. Please. My family and I would be glad to have you for dinner."

Anne opened her mouth to protest, but recalled a similar argument that occurred her first evening aboard _Titanic_. Realizing she couldn't win, she closed her mouth and nodded.

"Good. I'll see you then. It was a pleasure meeting you, Miss Stewart."

Anne tied her hair with a length of green ribbon. She lacked Megan's skills with styling hair, and so made do with the simple ribbon. She glanced in the mirror, and scrutinized her appearance for a good ten minutes, before finally deciding to be satisfied with her looks.

She patted her pocket to feel the small items inside, then exited her stateroom. She descended the stairs and left the hotel. Repeating the address in her head, Anne began the short walk to the Murdoch household, keeping in the soft rays of the arc-lights.

_I can't do it. I simply cannot. . . . This was a mistake. What am I doing here? _Anne mentally chided herself for even considering to attend dinner. As she neared the beautiful cottage, Anne felt her will quickly fade. She balked as she approached the front door, and took a deep breath to calm herself. Finally, she stepped up to the door and knocked three times.

"She's here!" Anne heard a female voice cry out from inside the house. A moment later, the door flew open, and a young, dark-haired woman stood in the doorway. "Good evening, Miss Stewart. I'm Agnes. Won't you come in?"

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Agnes. And please, call me 'Anne,'" Anne nodded as she stepped inside the house.

"Well, you look lovely this evening, Miss Stewart," Mr. Murdoch smiled broadly. "Welcome to our home. I see you've met our daughter Agnes already, and this is my wife, Jeannie."

"I am pleased to meet you, Mrs. Murdoch," Anne raised her hand to shake the other woman's, but was surprised when the elder embraced her.

"Please, call me 'Jeannie,'" Mrs. Murdoch whispered into Anne's ear. She finally pulled away and looked her up and down. "Haven't they fed you? Ah, no matter. We'll feed you here. Dinner is ready. We'll go into the dining room, and talk later. Peg isn't here, I'm afraid."

Trying to keep up with the energetic woman's chatter, Anne simply nodded in reply. The family adjourned to the dining room in a flutter of chatter and melancholy smiles.

"Harry Lowe, you know him? Yes, well, he sent us a letter about Will. He mentioned you. He also sent a letter from Will. Will mentioned you, also," Mr. Murdoch stated during the meal. "He admired you, Anne. I don't believe any of us expected that."

"Not after. . . ." Jeannie's voice trailed off, as though she'd said too much.

"Not after Ada?" Anne offered, and Jeannie's eyes lit up.

"My, he _did _trust you," Jeannie grinned. "Yes, not after Ada. We all expected he'd marry her. Well, _I _had my doubts, but I wasn't going to tell him so."

"Of course you did, Dear. You knew all along," Mr. Murdoch gently agreed with his wife, then winked at Anne, who suppressed a smile.

"So, what did you think of Will? He was always so stern and quiet and serious." Agnes leaned across the table a bit.

"Well, when I first met him, he was rather kind and sociable." A small smile broke out across Anne's face. Time melted away as she thought of that day she had first seen the First Officer in Southampton. Slowly, lovingly, she reminisced and began reliving the voyage on _Titanic_. "It was the day before _Titanic _sailed. . . ."

* * *

A/N: In case you haven't had a chance to read the brief memo I posted on my main page, I'm traveling to Europe for two months this summer, and I'll have the chance to visit Dalbeattie. I had hoped to wait until I visit Dalbeattie to write about it, but I've decided just to go ahead and finish the story, and then edit as I see fit upon my return. Thanks very much for all of your reviews and messages! You guys have been absolutely wonderful! 


	22. Chapter 22

Disclaimer: I . . . don't own the movie characters. Or the historical ones.

* * *

Jeannie's eyes glistened with unshed tears. Two fat tears rolled down Agnes' cheeks. Mr. Murdoch sat, transfixed, as they listened to Anne's story. Here was a side of their son they had seen rarely, and it had all been the doing of a single woman, a woman who appeared too meek to make an impression on William Murdoch.

"So, it was your first kiss?" Agnes asked, her voice wistful.

"Yes," Anne felt her throat heat up as she blushed. She hadn't wanted to tell them about the kiss, but she had been too caught up in her memories to exclude it.

"And, your son is in London?" Mr. Murdoch asked.

"Yes. My adopted son," Anne corrected.

"That Ruth woman seems quite cruel," Jeannie nodded once for emphasis.

"Yes, she was," Anne agreed with a sigh. "But, that's all in the past, now."

"Well, I think it's time for coffee," Mr. Murdoch rose from his chair and left the room before anyone else could see his tears.

The four sat in silence at the table, each contemplating the story and the people. Finally, Mr. Murdoch reappeared with coffee, and the group adjourned to the parlor.

"Thank you," Anne absentmindedly nodded as she accepted her cup of coffee. She took a sip, then suddenly started. She looked up at Mr. Murdoch from over the rim of her coffee cup. "How did you know?"

"You mentioned it in your story," Mr. Murdoch smiled.

Anne smiled faintly. She glanced around the parlor, until the weight in her pocket seemed unbearable. The smile disappeared from her face, and she dipped her hand into the side of her dress. "These . . . These were his," Anne whispered.

She set the wedding band down on the table with a solemn gentleness. She held the pocket watch by the chain, and the light danced off the gold piece. She added a book of poetry to the collection, a worn copy Murdoch lent her

"No, Dear. I think he wanted you to have them," Jeannie smiled a tearful smile as her voice choked with emotion.

"But, they're family heir-"

Mr. Murdoch shook his head. "Will viewed you as family. And, so do we. Anne, you may not realize it, but you've . . . given us comfort. You gave Will hope and joy."

Anne cast her eyes to the floor. She bit her tongue. _I will not cry. I will not cry. Anne, don't cry. Don't. . . ._

"I think he must have written the first half of this letter before the accident. The second half is a bit less composed; he must have been in a hurry," Mr. Murdoch brought a letter from a desk. He handed it to Anne. "Go on, read it. There's something in there for you."

Anne's brow creased slightly. She accepted the letter, and as she opened it, a small scrap of paper fell out. "'Whatever obstacles control, go on, true heart, thou'lt reach the goal.'"

"It's part of a poem written by the man who wrote that book," Mr. Murdoch gestured to the poetry book on the table. "Read the rest of it."

Anne returned her gaze to the paper. The first half had been addressed clearly to "Father, Mother, and Agnes." The second portion, however, seemed to be more or less addressed to her. She skimmed to the lower half of the page.

_Met a lovely woman. Her name is Anne Stewart. Write her if you have the chance. I am quite fond of her, and I know you all will love her. She's made me feel like I did with Ada, only better. I wish I could become better acquainted with her. She's a bit shy and very modest, and seems to think very little of herself. But, I know how wonderful she is. It just takes a bit of time. I know you'll adore her._

Anne dropped the letter to her lap. Her vision blurred as tears welled in her eyes, and she was unable to finish the message. Agnes slid across the couch and wrapped her arms around Anne. A single tear slid down Anne's cheek, and she mentally upbraided herself for letting it show itself.

--

Anne visited with the Murdoch family for several hours. When she finally returned to her hotel, her timepiece read half past midnight.

Still fully clothed, she flopped backwards onto the bed. Anne sighed and stared up at the ceiling. Overwhelmed by the evening's events, she finally allowed the tears to come. Thoughts of Will, Murdoch, Rose, Megan, the Murdochs, and _Titanic _swimming about in her head, she finally drifted off into a restless sleep.

--

"Anne?" Anne set her brush down on the vanity. She turned towards the door. "Anne, are you awake?"

"Yes," Anne called out. She rose from her chair and crossed the room to the door. "Mr. Murdoch!" she exclaimed upon opening the door. "What a pleasant surprise! I hadn't expected you."

"No doubt. I forgot to ask if you would mind spending the rest of your stay here in Dalbeattie at my home," Mr. Murdoch's eyes smiled warmly.

"Oh, but, Sir! I do not wish to impose upon your family. I am certain your family has enough troubles at the-" Anne shook her head.

"You are no imposition. And my wife has taken an instant liking to you. In fact, she _demanded _that I return with you, or else she'll lock me out of the house. So, you see, if you do not come with me, I shall be forced to fend for myself in the streets for a few nights," Mr. Murdoch teased.

Anne tried to think of an excuse. Unfortunately, she could find none. And so, reluctant to impose and be a burden, she accepted Mr. Murdoch's offer of hospitality.

--

"I truly envy you," Anne broke the silence in the parlor.

"Why?" Agnes glanced up from her book.

"You have all adjusted to this so . . . so well. I am not even a relative, and yet I feel weaker than you and your family," Anne shook her head, embarrassed.

"Anne, dear," Agnes shook her head with a soft, knowing smile. She took Anne's hands in hers across the couch. "Just as some smile on the inside, some weep on the inside. We Murdochs are of strong stock. We have learned to put forth a brave front. 'Tis better for us all, don't you agree? Besides, I don't think Will would want us all crying all the time."

"I suppose."

"We will always be in mourning, Anne. Will was a great man. He was a dear brother. But, we all knew his death at sea was a possibility. Did you know our family has made it a rule that at least one man in each generation chooses a career on land, just because so many have died at sea? Well, we have. Death is simply something one must accept. Some days you may feel as though you cannot go on, but you must. Especially you. You have little Will."

"I know this sounds selfish, but it's so difficult. I miss him, Agnes."

"I do, too. Every second of every minute." Agnes sighed. She glanced askance at Anne. "Did you . . . have deep feelings for my brother?"

"Well, I told you about the shawl and the third-class party and the walks and-"

"I know, but sometimes, that's just the loneliness talking."

"Agnes, under different circumstances, had I known your brother longer, I would have hoped that he would have paid me suit."

"And, if things would have progressed, you would have been my sister-in-law."

Anne smiled at the thought. She hadn't known the family for long, but she had been quite taken by them. "That would have been nice."

"'Would have been?' Let's pretend it _is_."

"I'm sorry?"

"We'll be sisters. Peg has a family of her own. I have yet to become engaged. The house is lonely. You have Rose across the ocean, and Megan in England. Right here, you have no one to consider family. I want you to consider me family, Anne. I want to be your sister. Oh, do say you will!"

Anne stared at Agnes, speechless. She had been an only child, and her parents had passed away when she was young. To be accepted by people she hardly knew. . . .


	23. Chapter 23

Epilogue

_

* * *

He's alive._ Lowe's words echoed in Anne's head, haunting her. Seated across from her, Megan, and Rose at a small London café he'd shared the most earth-shattering news Anne could recall. But somehow, she'd been less shocked than she expected. She recalled the way Lowe never seemed to make eye contact when he shared the news of Murdoch's death, the way he said that Murdoch could never have lived with himself, knowing that he'd caused the deaths of all the innocents. _He's been sorting things out with the White Star Line – that sort of thing takes time. I told him I'd let you live peacefully, but I can't keep lying. It's almost been a year. He's returning to Dalbeattie._

Anne sighed as she stared out at the open ocean, uncertain whether her sigh was wistful or anguished. Exactly one year had passed since _Titanic _sank. Exactly one year since her first and only kiss. Exactly one year since she'd last seen the man she thought she loved. She'd been so certain until Lowe's announcement at the café. But how could she love him if he didn't love her in return? She pondered the question.  
She'd gotten to know him better through his family and friends in Dalbeattie, where she decided to take up residence, along with young Will. Not a day passed that she didn't think of the man who'd changed her life forever. And now, after a year, she found herself wondering what could have happened. What would have happened. What would certainly happen if he ever dared to show his face again.

The mid-April skies were bleak and grey. Anne stared out at the sea, green-grey waves with frothy crests. She pulled her shawl more tightly around her slim shoulders and lost herself in the rhythmic lapping and crashing of the waves against the shore and rocky cliffs. She closed her eyes against the joy and the pain. _He's alive. And he never sought you out. Granted, he caused his family more grief than he'll ever know, but . . . he never sought me out._ The words were icy water to her face.

* * *

Anne hung her shawl near the door, first glaring at the garment she'd treasured as a reminder of his compassion. She paused to allow her fingers to longingly graze the worn fabric. If she allowed her mind to wander the slightest bit, she could remember the night he draped it around her shoulders. Furiously she blinked away the tears that threatened so as not to frighten young Will.

Having left the beach early to discourage herself from dwelling too deeply on her impossible wants angry wishes Anne decided to prepare lunch. She threw herself wholeheartedly into the cooking that distracted her from the sadness that still pervaded every sense of her being, oblivious to the goings on in the house.

She failed to hear the knock at the door, or the footsteps of Will as he raced to greet the caller. All she heard was the sound of her own sniffling as she fought the urge the weep.

"Momma?" Will's soft voice startled her from her thoughts, and she quickly wiped the salt drops from her face.

"Yes, darling?" Anne asked sweetly as she turned to face her son. Her lips parted in surprise as her eyes widened. "Oh." She could not quite believe the spectacle before her. Her hand instinctively rose to find the comfort of her locket. "Oh. I must be dreaming."

The man stood in the doorway of the kitchen. He carried himself with the air of a gentleman, though he wore a simple white work shirt and brown slacks with suspenders. And as he stood there, he stared at Anne, not daring to breathe nor blink, for fear that she would vanish.

"You're not dreaming, Momma," Will reassured.

"Anne." Her name was spoken softly, timidly. It was a faint breath of air, a question. She sensed the shame in his voice, but did not feel the satisfaction she'd dreamed of.

"Impossible. . . ." Anne shook her head slowly as her eyes remained riveted on the man before her.

Murdoch smiled sadly as he eyed the boy, Anne's pride and joy. He recalled that somewhere in the chaotic meeting with his parents they'd mentioned the orphan Anne adopted, who was perhaps all she needed. He supposed he deserved that for waiting so long. But it had taken him that long, and then some, to defeat the guilt he felt after the accident – the accident that he had caused, the one that had killed so many. The accident that he felt was the reason he could never be with Anne. _I never thought I'd see you again_.

Cautiously, he took a step forward, and then another, concentrating on the vision before him. As he closed the distance between them, his heart began to race and he wondered what to say to her. He had thought about it often enough – daily since he'd last seen her. But now as he found himself mere inches from her — he could faintly smell her perfume, the same she wore on _Titanic_, and the green intensity of her eyes was the same as when he'd last gotten lost in them — he was breathless and mindless, and nothing made sense. He peered down at her lips, slightly parted in surprise and quivering as she held back tears. He hadn't wanted to make her cry. "Anne . . . I beg you to forgive me. I'm so very sorry. I'm sorry that a mere apology does not justify what I've done. But please, Anne. You must understand why I asked Lowe to tell you I was dead. You deserve so much better than . . . than a murderer. I could have stopped it. Smith told me to rouse him if the conditions were the least bit suspicious. But I was too prideful; I thought I could handle it. And I crashed the largest ocean-liner on her maiden voyage, and—"

Anne silenced him with a finger to his lips as her anger swiftly cooled to a vexation. "Shh. . . ." Her voice trailed off into nothing as she searched his eyes for something, anything that would give away his secret and shake her from this dream and nightmare. Nervously, she reached up and touched his cheek. It was warm. It was solid. He was real. Her voice was a whisper. "Oh . . . this cannot be real. You never came, and it's been a year. I've mourned for you. I'm so angry with you, Will. Do you know that?"

Murdoch's shoulders visibly slumped in defeat. He had dared to hope that perhaps. . . . He felt his throat tighten as a stinging sensation began behind his eyes. A year of preparation was hardly enough for the overwhelming depression he felt. "I. . . ." No words would come. He could say nothing that justified or lessened the consequences of his actions. His eyes lowered to the floor as her hand dropped from his cheek.

For a moment, Anne's eyes nervously scanned the floor as they registered countless emotions vying for control. And Forgiveness won.

She reached up again to cup his cheek with her palm, waiting for his head to rise. Her eyes searched his, his nervousness and overbearing sadness displayed for all to see. And suddenly her anger was baseless in light of all he'd endured over the past year. With a shy smile, she leaned up to his ear. "I forgive you," she whispered. "A thousand times over. I've missed you so, Will."

She smiled as she saw surprise replace the nervousness, and joy counter the sadness. She leaned up as he took her in his arms and softly graced her lips with a gentle kiss. Anne did not know whether to laugh or cry, and then all thought processes seemed to stop as she was lost in his embrace.

The end.

* * *

Author's Note

The end! I must admit that I didn't want this story to end, which may be why it took me so very long to finish it. Either that or the fact that I had no less than six different endings prepared (this is a mix of all of them, as I couldn't decide quite how to end it!). I've not read this story in ages, and now looking back I realise that I should probably go back and revise much of it, but all in good time. I am grateful beyond measure to everyone who has read and reviewed this story. Without you, I doubt I'd have finished this -- honestly, I might've just let it sit in Microsoft Office with six different endings attached to the end.

Regarding Lowe and the meeting, this event occurred perhaps a month before Anne visits the beach on the anniversary of _Titanic's_ sinking. It might be more understandable if I'd have written it out. . . . Of course, then you'd have known that he was alive before they actually met. Then again, I think that might have been obvious. Also, Anne's pms-like mood swings are a result of me combining the endings, but I imagine that my own feelings would be vacillating between anger and joy if I were in her position. I simply felt the need to explain all of that.


End file.
